/^Wt>t:> 


Widow  :  "  Gentle  madam, 

You  never  had  a  servant  to  whose   trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome  " 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well  Aci  IV  Sce»e 


Copyright,    1901 

By 

THE    UNIVERSITY    SOCIETY 


COLLEGf 
LIBRARY 


^\ 

ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL. 
Preface. 

The  First  Editions.  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time  in  the  First  Folio.  It  is  certain 
that  no  earUer  edition  existed;  the  play  was  mentioned 
in  the  Stationers'  Register  under  Nov.  8th,  1623,  among 
the  plays  not  previously  entered.  The  text  of  the  first 
edition  is  corrupt  in  many  places,  and  gives  the  impres- 
sion of  having  been  carelessly  printed  from  an  imper- 
fectly revised  copy.  There  is  no  record  of  the  perform- 
ance of  All 's  Well  that  Ends  Well  during  Shakespeare's 
lifetime ;  the  earliest  theatrical  notices  belong  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  eighteenth  century. 

The  Date  of  Composition.  The  remarkable  incon- 
gruity of  style  characteristic  of  All's  Well  that  Ends 
Well — the  striking  contrast  of  mature  and  early  work — 
can  only  be  accounted  for  by  regarding  the  play  as  a 
recast  of  an  earlier  version  of  the  comedy.  Rhyming 
lines,  the  sonnet-like  letters,  the  lyrical  dialogues  and 
speeches,  remind  the  reader  of  such  a  play  as  Love's  La- 
hour's  Lost.  The  following  passages  have  not  inaptly 
been  described  as  '  boulders  from  the  old  strata  embedded 
in  the  later  deposits  ' : — Act  I.  i.  226-239;  L  iii.  133-141 ; 
II.  i.  132-213;  II.  iii.  73-105,  127-146;  III.  iv.  4-17;  IV. 
iii.  237-245  ;  .V.  iii.  60-72,  322-337. 

It  seems  very  probable,  almost  certain,  that  the  play  is 
a  revision  of  '  Love's  Labours  Wonne,'  mentioned  by 
Meres  in  his  Palladis  Tamia  (1598)..  Love's  Labours 
Wonne '  has  been  variously  identified  by  scholars  with 


Preface  ALL 'S  WELL 

Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Taming  of  the  Shrenj,  The 
Tempest.  A  strong  case  can,  however,  be  made  for  the 
present  play,  and  there  is  perhaps  an  allusion  to  the  old 
title  in  Helena's  words  (V.  iii.  31 1-3 12)  : — 

'  This  is  done; 
Will  you  he  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won?' 

The  play  was  probably  originally  a  companion  play  to 
Love's  Labour 's  Lost,  and  was  written  about  the  years 
1590-92.  It  may  well  have  belonged  to  the  group  of 
early  comedies.  The  story,  divested  of  its  tragic  inten- 
sity, may  perhaps  link  it  to  The  Tzvo  Gentlemen  of  Ve- 
rona ;  the  original  Helena  may  have  been  a  twin-sister  to 
the  '  Helena '  of  A  Midsummer-Night's  Dream.  The 
diction  and  metre  throughout  may  have  resembled  the 
passages  to  which  attention  has  already  been  called. 

There  is  no  very  definite  evidence  for  the  date  of  the 
revision  of  the  play.  The  links  which  connect  it  with 
Hamlet  are  unmistakeable ;  the  Countess's  advice  to  Ber- 
tram anticipates  Polonius's  advice  to  Laertes ;  Helena's 
strength  of  will  and  clearness  of  purpose  make  her  a  sort 
of  counterpart  to  Hamlet,  as  she  herself  says : — 

'  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 
Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven;  the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope,  only  doth  backzvard  pull 
Our  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull' 

(I.  i.  236-9). 

Furthermore,  the  name  '  Corambus '  (IV.  ii.  185)  recalls 
the  *  Corambis  '  of  the  First  Quarto  of  Hamlet:  similarly 
the  name  '  Escalus  '  is  the  name  of  the  Governor  in  Mcas- 
iire  for  Measure.  In  the  latter  play,  indeed,  we  have 
almost  the  same  situation  as  in  Alll's  Well, — the  honest 
intrigue  of  a  betrothed  to  win  an  irresponsive  lover. 
Finally,  the  undoing  of  the  braggart  Parolles  recalls  Fal- 
staff's  exposure  in  Henry  IV.,  and  Malvolio's  humiliation 
in  Twelfth  Night.  All  things  considered,  the  play,  as  we 
have  it,  may  safely  be  dated,  '  about  1602.' 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Preface 

The  Source  of  the  Plot.  The  story  of  Helena  and  Ber- 
tram was  derived  by  Shakespeare  from  the  Decameron 
through  the  medium  of  Paynter's  translation  in  the  Palace 
of  Pleasure  (1566).  The  Novels  of  the  Third  Day  of 
the  Decameron  tell  of  those  lovers  v^ho  have  overcome 
insuperable  obstacles  ;  they  are,  in  fact,  stories  of  '  Love's 
Labours  Won,'  and  if  Shakespeare  had  turned  to  the  Ital- 
ian, the  original  title  *  Love's  Labour's  Won'  may  have 
been  suggested  by  the  words  connecting  the  Novels  of  the 
Second  and  Third  Days.  The  Ninth  Novel  of  the  Third 
Day  narrates  how  '  Giletta,  a  physician's  daughter  of 
Narbon,  healed  the  French  King  of  a  Fistula,  for  reward 
whereof  she  demanded  Beltramo,  Count  of  Rossiglione,  to 
husband.  The  Count  being  married  against  his  will,  for 
despite  fled  to  Florence  and  loved  another.  Giletta,  his 
wife,  by  policy  found  means  to  be  with  her  husband  in 
place  of  his  lover,  and  was  begotten  with  child  of  two 
sons ;  which  known  to  her  husband,  he  received  her 
again,  and  afterwards  he  lived  in  great  honour  and  fe- 
Hcity.' 

The  following  are  among  the  most  noteworthy  of 
Shakespeare's  variations  from  his  original: — (i.)  the 
whole  interest  of  the  story  is  centred  in  the  heroine — ac- 
cording to  Coleridge,  Shakespeare's  '  loveliest  creation '  ; 
to  this  character-study  all  else  in  the  play  is  subordi- 
nated; the  poor  Helen  of  All's  Well,  unlike  the  wealthy 
Giletta  of  the  Novel,  derives  '  no  dignity  or  interest  from 
place  or  circumstances,'  and  rests  for  all  our  sympathy 
and  respect  solely  upon  the  truth  and  intensity  of  her  af- 
fections;  (ii.)  the  moral  character  of  Bertram,  the  Bel- 
tramo of  the  Novel,  is  darkened ;  his  personal  beauty  and 
valour  is  emphasized;  while  (iii.)  Shakespeare  has  em- 
bodied his  evil  genius  in  the  character  of  the  vile  Parolles, 
of  whom  there  is  no  hint  in  the  original  story;  (iv.)  simi- 
larly, generous  old  Lafeu,  the  Countess, — '  like  one  of 
Titian's  old  ladies,  reminding  us  still  amid  their  wrinkles 
of  that  soul  of  beauty  and  sensibility  which  must  have 


Preface  ALL  'S  WELL 

animated    them    when    young ' — the    Steward,    and    the 
Clown,  are  entirely  his  own  creations. 

Duration  of  Action.  The  time  of  the  play  is  eleven 
days,  distributed  over  three  months,  arranged  as  follows 
by  Mr.  Daniel  (Trans,  of  Nezv  Shakespeare  Soc,  ^^77- 

79)  -— 

Day  I,  Act  I.  i.  Interval.  Bertram's  journey  to  Court. 
Day  2,  Act  I.  ii.  and  iii.  Interval.  Helena's  journey. 
Day  3,  Act  II.  i.  and  ii.  Interval.  Cure  of  the  King's 
malady.  Day  4,  Act  II.  iii.,  iv.  and  v.  Interval.  Hel- 
ena's return  to  Rousillon.  Bertram's  journey  to  Flor- 
ence. Day  5,  Act  HI.  i.  and  ii.  Day  6,  Act  III.  iii.  and 
iv.  Interval — some  two  months.  Day  7,  Act  III.  v. 
Day  8,  Act  III.  vi;  and  vii. ;  Act  IV.  i.,  ii.  and  iii.  Day 
9,  Act  IV.  iv.  Interval.  Bertram's  return  to  Rousillon. 
Helena's  return  to  Marseilles.  Day  10,  Act  IV.  v. ;  Act 
V.  i.     Day  11,  Act  V.  ii.  and  iii. 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Critical  Comments. 

L 

Argument. 

L  Upon  the  death  of  a  celebrated  physician,  his 
daughter  Helena  is  given  a  home  with  the  Countess  of 
Rousillon,  and  she  there  falls  desperately  in  love  with 
the  Countess's  son,  Bertram.  His  mother  discovers  the 
attachment,  but  is  not  displeased  at  it,  for  Helena, 
though  poor  and  unknown,  is  a  woman  of  much  worth. 
Bertram,  however,  pays  no  heed  to  Helena,  all  his 
thoughts  being  turned  to  active  service  with  the  King 
of  France,  under  whose  protection  he  places  himself 
after  the  death  of  his  father.  The  King  is  suffering  at 
this  time  from  a  disease  which  has  been  pronounced  in- 
curable. Helena,  hearing  of  the  King's  ailment,  secures 
the  Countess's  permission  to  go  and  offer  him  a  prescrip- 
tion left  her  by  her  father. 

H.  Helena  obtains  an  audience  with  the  King,  and 
after  much  persuasion  induces  him  to  try  her  remedy, 
exacting  only  a  royal  promise  that,  in  the  event  of  his 
being  cured,  the  monarch  shall  bestow  upon  her  the 
hand  of  a  gentleman  of  her  choosing.  The  cure  is  ef- 
fected, and  Helena  chooses  Bertram.  The  young  Count 
disdains  the  match,  but  is  forced  to  consent  to  the  nup- 
tials, under  peril  of  the  King's  displeasure.  But  no 
sooner  is  the  ceremony  performed  than  Bertram  departs 
for  the  Florentine  war,  without  so  much  as  kissing  his 
bride. 

II L  Helena  is  sent  home  to  the  Countess  with  a  let- 
ter from  Bertram  to  the  effect  that  he  will  never  recog- 


Comments  ALL'S  WELL 

nize  his  wife  until  she  can  obtain  possession  of  a  ring,  a 
family  heirloom,  from  his  finger,  and  become  with  child 
by  him — to  which  conditions  he  subscribes  a  "never." 
He  also  renounces  his  family  estates  because  of  her, 
which  so  grieves  the  young  woman  that  she  departs,  no 
one  knows  whither,  in  order  not  to  keep  him  from  his 
home.  In  Florence,  the  Duke  has  made  Bertram  gen- 
eral of  his  horse,  and  the  Count  distinguishes  himself  in 
battle.  Helena  arrives  in  the  city  disguised  as  a  pilgrim, 
and  learns  from  a  widow  that  Bertram  has  been  making 
dishonourable  proposals  to  her  daughter,  Diana.  Hel- 
ena, seeing  an  opportunity,  through  Diana,  to  work  out 
the  seemingly  impossible  conditions  imposed  by  her 
husband,  prevails  upon  the  widow  to  aid  her  project. 

IV.  In  furtherance  of  Helena's  plot,  Diana  obtains 
from  Bertram  the  much-prized  ring,  and  make<^  an  as- 
signation with  him,  at  which,  however,  the  woman  he 
meets  is  not  Diana,  as  he  supposes,  but  Helena.  Shortly 
afterwards  he  returns  to  his  mother,  the  Countess, 
who  has  been  mourning  Helena  as  dead. 

V.  The  King,  at  this  time,  is  visiting  at  the  Countess's 
palace  in  Rousillon.  He  becomes  reconciled  with  Ber- 
tram, who  had  left  the  court  surreptitiously,  and  is  on 
the  point  of  giving  his  consent  to  the  young  Count's 
marriage  with  another  lady,  when  he  detects  a  ring  upon 
Bertram's  finger  that  he  himself  had  formerly  given 
Helena,  and  which  she  had  placed  upon  her  husband's 
finger  in  Florence.  Bertram  cannot  give  a  satisfactory 
explanation  of  its  presence,  and  the  King  suspects  him 
of  having  laid  violent  hands  upon  his  wife,  when  the 
lost  Helena  appears  upon  the  scene,  tells  the  truth  con- 
cerning the  Florentine  assignation,  and  assures  her 
husband  that  both  his  conditions  have  been  fufilled. 
The  repentant  Bertram  gladly  acknowledges  her  as  his 
wife. 

McSpadden  :  Shakespearian  Synopses. 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

IL 

Helena. 

In  thp  character  of  Juliet  we  have  seen  the  passionate 
and  the  imaginative  blended  in  an  equal  degree,  and  in 
the  highest  conceivable  degree  as  combined  with  deli- 
cate female  nature.  In  Helena  we  have  a  modification  of 
character  altogether  distinct;  allied,  indeed,  to  JuHet 
as  a  picture  of  fervent,  enthusiastic,  self-forgetting  love, 
but  differing  wholly  from  her  in  other  respects;  for 
Helena  is  the  union  of  strength  of  passion  with  strength 
of  character. 

"  To  be  tremblingly  alive  to  gentle  impressions,  and 
yet  be  able  to  preserve,  when  the  prosecution  of  a  de- 
sign requires  it,  an  immovable  heart  amidst  even  the 
most  imperious  causes  of  subduing  emotion,  is  perhaps 
not  an  impossible  constitution  of  mind,  but  it  is  the  ut- 
most and  rarest  endowment  of  humanity." 

Such  a  character,  almost  as  difhcult  to  delineate  in  fic- 
tion as  to  find  in  real  life,  has  Shakspeare  given  to  us  in 
Helena;  touched  with  the  most  soul-subduing  pathos, 
and  developed  with  the  most  consummate  skill. 

Helena,  as  a  woman,  is  more  passionate  than  imagi- 
native; and,  as  a  character,  she  bears  the  same  rela- 
tion to  Juliet  that  Isabel  bears  to  Portia.  There  is  equal 
unity  of  purpose  and  effect,  with  much  less  of  the  glow 
of  imagery  and  the  external  colouring  of  poetry  in  the 
sentiments,  language,  and  details.  It  is  passion  devel- 
oped under  its  most  profound  and  serious  aspect;  as 
in  Isabella,  we  have  the  serious  and  the  thoughtful,  not 
the  brilliant  side  of  intellect.  Both  Helena  and  Isabel 
are  distinguished  by  high  mental  powers,  tinged  with  a 
melancholy  sweetness;  but  in  Isabella  the  serious  and 
energetic  part  of  the  character  is  founded  in  religious 
principle,  in  Helena  it  is  founded  in  deep  passion. 

There  never  was,  perhaps,  a  more  beautiful  picture 
of  a  woman's  love,  cherished  in  secret,  not  self-consu- 

7. 


Comments  ALL  *S  WELL 

ming  in  silent  languishment — not  pining  in  thought — not 
passive  and  "  desponding  over  its  idol  " — but  patient 
and  hopeful,  strong  in  its  own  intensity,  and  sustained 
by  its  own  fond  faith.  The  passion  here  reposes  upon 
itself  for  all  its  interest;  it  derives  nothing  from  art  or 
ornament  or  circumstance;  it  has  nothing  of  the  pic- 
turesque charm  or  glowing  romance  of  Juliet;  nothing 
of  the  poetical  splendour  of  Portia,  or  the  vestal  gran- 
deur of  Isabel.  The  situation  of  Helena  is  the  most 
painful  and  degrading  in  which  a  woman  can  be  placed. 
She  is  poor  and  lowly;  she  loves  a  man  who  is  far  her 
superior  in  rank,  who  repays  her  love  with  indifference, 
and  rejects  her  hand  with  scorn.  She  marries  him 
against  his  will;  he  leaves  her  with  contumely  on  the 
day  of  their  marriage,  and  makes  his  return  to  her  arms 
depend  on  conditions  apparently  impossible.  All  the 
circumstances  and  details  Avith  which  Helena  is  sur- 
rounded are  shocking  to  our  feelings  and  wounding  to 
our  delicacy,  and  yet  the  beauty  of  the  character  is  made 
to  triumph  over  all;  and  Shakspeare,  resting  for  all 
his  effect  on  its  internal  resources  and  its  genuine  truth 
and  sweetness,  has  not  even  availed  himself  of  some 
extraneous  advantages  with  which  Helena  is  represented 
in  the  original  story.  She  is  the  Giletta  di  Narbonna  'of 
Boccaccio.  In  the  Italian  tale,  Giletta  is  the  daughter 
of  a  celebrated  physician  attached  to  the  court  of  Rous- 
sillon;  she  is  represented  as  a  rich  heiress,  who  rejects 
many  suitors  of  worth  and  rank,  in  consequence  of  her 
secret  attachment  to  the  young  Bertram  de  Roussillon. 
She  cures  the  King  of  France  of  a  grievous  distemper, 
by  one  of  her  father's  prescriptions;  and  she  asks  and 
receives  as  her  reward  the  young  Count  of  Roussillon 
as  her  wedded  husband.  He  forsakes  her  on  their 
wedding  day,  and  she  retires,  by  his  order,  to  his  ter- 
ritory of  Roussillon.  There  she  is  received  with  honour, 
takes  state  upon  her  in  her  husband's  absence  as  the 
''  lady  of  the  land,"  administers  justice,  and  rules  her 
lord's  dominions  so  wisely  and  so  well,  that  she  is  uni- 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

versally  loved  and  reverenced  by  his  subjects.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  Count,  instead  of  rejoining  her,  flies  to 
Tuscany,  and  the  rest  of  the  story  is  closely  followed  in 
the  drama.  The  beauty,  wisdom,  and  royal  demeanour 
of  Giletta  are  charmingly  described,  as  well  as  her 
fervent  love  for  Bertram.  But  Helena,  in  the  play, 
derives  no  dignity  or  interest  from  place  or  circumstance, 
and  rests  for  all  our  sympathy  and  respect  solely  upon 
the  truth  and  intensity  of  her  affections. 
She  is  indeed  represented  to  us  as  one 

"  Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 
Of  richest  eyes ;  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive ; 
Whose  dear  perfection  hearts  that  scorn'd  to  serve 
Humbly  called  mistress." 

As  her  dignity  is  derived  from  mental  power,  without 
any  alloy  of  pride,  so  her  humility  has  a  peculiar  grace. 
If  she  feels  and  repines  over  her  lowly  birth,  it  is  merely 
as  an  obstacle  which  separates  her  from  the  man  she 
loves.  She  is  more  sensible  to  his  greatness  than  her 
own  littleness;  she  is  continually  looking  from  herself 
up  to  him,  not  from  him  down  to  herself.  She  has  been 
bred  up  under  the  same  roof  with  him;  she  has  adored 
him  from  infancy.  Her  love  is  not  "  th'  infection  taken 
in  at  the  eyes,"  nor  kindled  by  youthful  romance:  it  ap- 
pears to  have  taken  root  in  her  being;  to  have  grown 
with  her  years;  and  to  have  gradually  absorbed  all  her 
thoughts  and  faculties,  until  her  fancy  "  carries  no  favour 
in  it  but  Bertram's,"  and  "  there  is  no  Hving,  none,  if 
Bertram  be  away." 

It  may  be  said  that  Bertram,  arrogant,  wayward,  and 
heartless,  does  not  justify  this  ardent  and  deep  devo- 
tion. But  Helena  does  not  behold  him  with  our  eyes; 
but  as  he  is  "  sanctified  in  her  idolatrous  fancy."  Dr. 
Johnson  says  he  cannot  reconcile  himself  to  a  man  who 
marries  Helena  like  a  coward,  and  leaves  her  like  a 
profligate.  This  is  much  too  severe;  in  the  first  place, 
there  is  no  necessity  that  we  should  reconcile  ourselves 


Comments  ALL'S  WELL 

to  him.  In  this  consists  a  part  of  the  wonderful  beauty 
of  the  character  of  Helena — a  part  of  its  womanly  truth; 
which  Johnson,  who  accuses  Bertram,  and  those  who  so 
plausibly  defend  him,  did  not  understand.  If  it  never 
happened  in  real  life,  that  a  woman,  richly  endued  with 
heaven's  best  gifts,  loved  with  all  her  heart,  and  soul, 
and  strength,  a  man  unequal  to  or  unworthy  of  her,  and 
to  whose  faults  herself  alone  was  blind — I  would  give  up 
the  point;  but  if  it  be  in  nature,  why  should  it  not  be  in 
Shakspeare? 

We  are  not  to  look  into  Bertram's  character  for  the 
spring  and  source  of  Helena's  love  for  him,  but  into 
her  own.  She  loves  Bertram — because  she  loves  him! — 
a  woman's  reason,  but  here,  and  sometimes  elsewhere, 
all-sufficient. 

And  although  Helena  tells  herself  that  she  loves  in 
vain,  a  conviction  stronger  than  reason  tells  her  that 
she  does  not :  her  love  is  like  a  religion,  pure,  holy, 
and  deep ;  the  blessedness  to  which  she  has  hfted  her 
thoughts  is  forever  before  her;  to  despair  would  be  a 
crime — it  would  be  to  cast  herself  away  and  die.  The 
faith  of  her  affection,  combining  with  the  natural  energy 
of  her  character,  believing  all  things  possible,  makes 
them  so.  It  could  say  to  the  mountain  of  pride  which 
stands  between  her  and  her  hopes,  ''  Be  thou  removed!  " 
and  it  is  removed.  This  is  the  solution  of  her  behaviour 
in  the  marriage  scene,  where  Bertram,  with  obvious  re- 
luctance and  disdain,  accepts  her  hand,  which  the  King, 
his  feudal  lord  and  guardian,  forces  on  him.  Her  maid- 
enly feeling  is  at  first  shocked,  and  she  shrinks  back: — 

"  That  you  are  well  restor'd,  my  lord,  I  am  glad : 
Let  the  rest  go." 

But  shall  she  weakly  relinquish  the  golden  opportunity, 
and  dash  the  cup  from  her  lips  at  the  moment  it  is  pre- 
sented? Shall  she  cast  away  the  treasure  for  which  she 
has  ventured  both  life  and  honour,  when  it  is  just  within 
her  grasp?    Shall  she,  after  compromising  her  feminine 

10 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

delicacy  by  the  public  disclosure  of  her  preference,  be 
thrust  back  into  shame,  "  to  blush  out  the  remainder  of 
her  life,"  and  die  a  poor,  lost,  scorned  thing?  This  would 
be  very  pretty  and  interesting  and  characteristic  in  Viola 
or  Ophelia,  but  not  at  all  consistent  with  that  high  de- 
termined spirit,  that  moral  energy  with  which  Helena 
is  portrayed.  Pride  is  the  only  obstacle  opposed  to  her. 
She  is  not  despised  and  rejected  as  a  woman,  but  as  a 
poor  physician's  daughter ;  and  this,  to  an  understand- 
ing so  clear,  so  strong,  so  just  as  Helena's,  is  not  felt  as 
an  unpardonable  insult.  The  mere  pride  of  rank  and 
birth  is  a  prejudice  of  which  she  cannot  comprehend 
the  force,  because  her  mind  towers  so  immeasurably 
above  it;  and,  compared  to  the  infinite  love  which  swells 
within  her  own  bosom,  it  sinks  into  nothing.  She  cannot 
conceive  that  he,  to  whom  she  has  devoted  her  heart 
and  truth,  her  soul,  her  life,  her  service,  must  not  one 
day  love  her  in  return;  and,  once  her  own  beyond  the 
reach  of  fate,  that  her  cares,  her  caresses,  her  unwearied 
patient  tenderness,  will  not  at  last  ''  win  her  lord  to  look 
upon  her ": — 

"  For  time  will  bring  on  summer, 
When  briars  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp." 

It  is  this  fond  faith  which,  hoping  all  things,  enables 
her  to  endure  all  things ;  which  hallows  and  dignifies 
the  surrender  of  her  woman's  pride,  making  it  a  sacrifice 
on  which  virtue  and  love  throw  a  mingled  incense. 

Mrs.  Jameson  :  Characteristics  of  Women. 

in. 

Bertram. 

It  undoubtedly  lessens  the  interest  of  the  play  that 
Shakespeare  should  not  have  given  Bertram  some  more 
estimable  qualities  along  with  the  all  too  youthful  and 


Comments  ALL  *S  WELL 

unchivalrous  ones  which  he  possesses.  The  Poet  has 
here  been  guilty  of  a  certain  negUgence,  which  shows 
that  it  was  only  to  parts  of  the  play  that  he  gave  his  whole 
mind.  Bertram  is  right  enough  in  refusing  to  have  a 
wife  thrust  upon  him  against  his  will,  simply  because  the 
King  has  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  pay.  But  this  first 
motive  for  refusing  gives  place  to  one  with  which  we 
have  less  sympathy:  'to  wit,  pride  of  rank,  which  makes 
him  look  down  on  Helena  as  being  of  inferior  birth, 
though  king,  courtiers,  and  his  own  mother  consider 
her  fit  to  rank  with  the  best.  Even  this,  however,  need 
not  lower  Bertram  irretrievably  in  our  esteem;  but  he 
adds  to  it  traits  of  unmanliness,  even  of  baseness.  For 
instance,  he  enjoins  Helena,  through  Parolles,  to  invent 
some  explanation  of  his  sudden  departure  which  will 
make  the  King  believe  it  to  have  been  a  necessity;  and 
then  he  leaves  her,  not,  as  he  falsely  declares,  for  two 
days,  but  for  ever.  His  readiness  to  marry  a  daughter 
of  Lafeu  the  moment  the  report  of  Helena's  death  has 
reached  him  is  a  very  extraordinary  preparation  for  the 
reunion  of  the  couple  at  the  end  of  the  play,  and  re- 
minds us  unpleasantly  of  the  exactly  similar  incident  in 
Much  Ado  About  Nothing.  But,  worst  of  aH,  and  an 
indisputable  dramatic  mistake,  is  his  entangling  himself, 
just  before  the  final  reconciliation,  in  a  web  of  mean  lies 
with  reference  to  the  Italian  girl  to  whom  he  had  laid 
siege  in  Tuscany. 

It  was  to  make  Helena's  position  more  secure,  and 
to  avoid  any  suspicion  of  the  adventuress  about  her, 
that  Shakespeare  invented  the  character  of  the  Countess, 
that  motherly  friend  whose  affection  sets  a  seal  on  all 
her  merits.  In  the  same  way  Parolles  was  invented  with 
the  purpose  of  making  Bertram  less  guilty.  Bertram  is 
to  be  considered  as  ensnared  by  this  old  "  fool,  notorious 
liar*  and  coward  "  (as  Helena  at  once  calls  him),  who 
figures  in  the  play  as  his  evil  genius. 

Brandes  :    William  Shakespeare. 

12 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

Even  at  the  last,  Bertram's  attainment  is  but  small; 
he  is  still  no  more  than  a  potential  piece  of  worthy  man- 
hood. We  cannot  suppose  that  Shakspere  has  repre- 
sented him  thus  without  a  purpose.  Does  not  the  Poet 
wish  us  to  feel  that  although  much  remains  to  be 
wrought  in  Bertram,  his  welfare  is  now  assured?  The 
courageous  title  of  the  play,  All 's  Well  that  Ends  Well, 
is  like  an  utterance  of  the  heart  of  Helena,  who  has 
strength  and  endurance  to  attain  the  end,  and  who  will 
measure  things,  not  by  the  pains  and  trials  of  the  way, 
not  by  the  dubious  and  difficult  means,  but  by  that  end, 
by  the  accomplished  issue.  We  need  not,  therefore^ 
concern  ourselves  any  longer  about  Bertram;  he  is  safe 
in  the  hands  of  Helena;  she  will  fashion  him  as  he  should 
be  fashioned.  Bertram  is  at  length  delivered  from  the 
snares  and  delusions  which  beset  his  years  of  haughty 
ignorance  and  dullness  of  the  heart;  he  is  doubly  won 
by  Helena;  therefore  he  cannot  wander  far,  therefore 
he  cannot  finally  be  lost. 

Dowden:  Shakspere^ 

IV. 

Parolles. 

Parolles  is  a  counterfoil  of  Helena,  inasmuch  ate  like 
her  he  is  ambitious  of  consorting  with  a  higher  rank,  but 
unlike  her  is  destitute  of  claims  to  honour  of  any  kind. 
Lafeu  characterizes  him  as  an  empty  upstart,  with  a 
distinction  worthy  the  admirer  of  Helena:  "You  are 
more  saucy  with  lords  and  honourable  personages  than 
the  commission  of  your  birth  and  (note  the  annexation) 
virtue  gives  you  heraldry." 

The  mistake  of  Bertram,  in  his  estimation  of  Parolles, 
is  counterpart  of  his  disregard  and  disdain  for  Helena, 
and  one  error  promotes  the  other,  as  the  vapouring 
scoundrel  is  chargeable  with  some  part  of  the  Count's 
misconduct  by  encouragement  and  suggestion.  While 
one  error  lasts,  the  other  has  little  chance  of  being 

13 


Comments  ALL  'S  WELL 

recognized;  and  it  is  shrewdly  remarked,  in  the  con- 
versation of  the  Lords,  that  the  wronged  wife  would 
have  a  better  chance  of  justice,  when  her  husband  should 
be  taught,  in  the  exposure  of  Parolles,  to  be  mistrustful 
of  his  sagacity  of  character.  "  I  would  gladly  have  him 
see  his  company  anatomized;  that  he  might  take  a  meas- 
ure of  his  own  judgements,  wherein  so  curiously  he  had 
set  this  counterfeit." 

But  from  another  point  of  view  Parolles  is  a  counter- 
foil, if  we  should  not  rather  say  a  counterpart,  of  Ber- 
tram himself.  It  almost  seems  as  if  the  conception  of 
the  bescarfed  poltroon  were  invented  to  follow  up  the 
contrast  with  Bertram,  the  handsome  but  false,  whose 
''  moral  parts  "  are  far  from  being,  as  the  King  would 
have  them,  in  agreement  with  his  prepossessing  outside. 
The  weak  point  of  Parolles,  in  respect  to  personal  cour- 
age, places  him  in  contrast  so  distinct  to  the  soldier-like 
Bertram,  that  the  latter  escapes  some  of  the  disgrace 
of  correspondence  on  other  points  with  his  worthless 
protege,  who  is  not  only  ''  a  most  notable  coward,  but 
an  infinite  and  endless  liar,  an  hourly  promise-breaker, 
the  owner  of  no  one  good  quality  worth  your  Lordship's 
entertainment." 

It  is  the  completion  of  the  humiliation  of  Bertram, 
that  the  follower  he  had  exposed  and  laughed  at  is 
brought  in  as  a  witness  against  him,  for  misconduct  we 
can  hardly  say  less  degrading;  and  Parolles  with  his 
petition  to  his  arch-enemy  Lafeu,  "  It  lies  in  you,  my 
lord,  to  bring,  me  in  some  grace,  for  you  did  bring  me 
out,"  is  really  provocative  of  comparison  with  Bertram 
crying  for  pardon  to  Helena. 

The  name  of  Parolles  is,  of  course,  allusive  to  wordi- 
ness; it  is  played  upon  indeed  in  this  sense,  and  he  is 
called  ''  the  armipotent  linguist."  The  command  of 
tongue  that  justifies  his  name,  is  wonderfully  reconciled 
with  his  being,  though  not  solely  as  he  is  a  coward,  but 
"  a  great  part,"  fool.  It  is  very  satisfactory  to  observe 
how  Lafeu,  the  old  courtier,  who  has  all  the  principle^ 

14 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

and  experience,  and  consideration  that  the  youthful  Ber- 
tram lacks,  is  disgusted  with  ParoUes,  but  tolerates,  not 
to  say  enjoys  with  gusto,  the  gossiping  pleasantry  of  the 
idle  clown. 

Lloyd  :  Critical  Essays  on  the  Plays  of  Shakespeare. 

V. 

A  Fine  Contrast  to  Lady  Capulet. 

This  old  Countess  of  Roussillon  is  a  charming  sketch. 
She  is  like  one  of  Titian's  old  women,  who  still,  amid 
their  wrinkles,  remind  us  of  that  soul  of  beauty  and  sen- 
sibility which  must  have  animated  them  when  young. 
She  is  a  fine  contrast  to  Lady  Capulet — benign,  cheer- 
ful, and  afifectionate;  she  has  a  benevolent  enthusiasm, 
which  neither  age  nor  sorrow  nor  pride  can  wear  away. 
Thus,  when  she  is  brought  to  believe  that  Helena 
nourishes  a  secret  attachment  for  her  son,  she  ob- 
serves:— 

"  Even  so  it  was  with  me  when  I  was  young ! 

This  thorn 

Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong, 

It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth, 

When  love's  strong  passion  is  impress'd  in  youth." 

Her  fond,  maternal  love  for  Helena,  whom  she  has 
brought  up,  her  pride  in  her  good  qualities,  overpower- 
ing all  her  own  prejudices  of  rank  and  birth,  are  most 
natural  in  such  a  mind;  and  her  indignation  against  her 
son,  however  strongly  expressed,  never  forgets  the 
mother. 

"  What  angel  shall 
Bless  this  unworthy  husband?  he  cannot  thrive 
Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to  hear 
And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 
Of  greatest  justice. 

Which  of  them  both 

Is  dearest  to  me — I  have  no  skill  in  sense 
To  make  distinction." 

IS 


Comments  ALL  *S  WELL 

This  is  very  skilfully,  as  well  as  delicately  conceived. 
In  rejecting  those  poetical  and  accidental  advantages 
which  Giletta  possesses  in  the  original  story,  Shak- 
speare  has  substituted  the  beautiful  character  of  the 
Countess;  and  he  has  contrived,  that,  as  the  character 
of  Helena  should  rest  for  its  internal  charm  on  the  depth 
of  her  own  affections,  so  it  should  depend  for  its  external 
interest  on  the  affection  she  inspires. 

Mrs.  Jameson:  Characteristics  of  Women. 


Almost  everybody  falls  in  love  with  the  Countess. 
And,  truly,  one  so  meek,  and  sweet,  and  venerable,  who 
can  help  loving  her?  or  who,  if  he  can  resist  her,  will 
dare  to  own  it?  We  can  almost  find  in  our  heart  to  adore 
the  beauty  of  youth;  yet  this  blessed  old  creature  is 
enough  to  persuade  us  that  age  may  be  more  beautiful 
still.  Her  generous  sensibility  to  native  worth  amply 
atones  for  her  son's  mean  pride  of  birth;  all  her  honours 
of  rank  and  place  she  would  gladly  resign,  to  have  been 
the  mother  of  the  poor  orphan  left  in  her  care.  Camp- 
bell says,  "  She  redeems  nobility  by  reverting  to  nature." 
Verplanck  thinks,  as  well  he  may,  that  the  Poet's  special 
purpose  in  this  play  was  to  set  forth  the  precedence  of 
innate  over  circumstantial  distinctions.  Yet  observe 
with  what  a  catholic  spirit  he  teaches  this  great  lesson, 
recognizing  the  noble  man  in  the  nobleman,  and  telling 
us  that  none  know  so  well  how  to  prize  the  nobilities  of 
nature,  as  those  who,  like  the  King  and  the  Countess  in 
this  play,  have  experienced  the  nothingness  of  all  other 
claims. 

Hudson:  The  Works  of  Shakespeare. 

VL 

Composition  and  Rank. 

The  composition  is  not  as  successful  as  in  most  of  his 
[Shakspeare's]   later  comedies;    several  of  the  charac- 

i6 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

ters,  such  as  the  Cmntess  md  the  Duke  of  Florence, 
Lafeu,  and  Parolles,  Violenta,  and  Mariana,  do  indeed 
take  some  external,  but  no  internal  part  in  the  ac- 
tion. The  reason  of  this  unalterable  and  chief  defect 
of  the  whole  lies,  it  seems  to  me,  in  the  subject-matter 
of  the  piece,  which  is  not  exactly  happily  chosen;  for 
it  must  necessarily  be  ofifensive  to  a  fine  sense  of  feeling 
when,  in  courtship,  woman  is  the  wooer,  and  especially 
when  this  unwomanly  proceeding — however  well  mo- 
tived and  excusable  it  may  appear — is  not  merely  nar- 
rated (as  in  Boccaccio's  novel)  but  represented  to  us  in 
a  vivid,  dramatic,  and  palpable  form.  To  overcome  this 
difficulty,  and  more  particularly  to  make  the  surprising 
conclusion — the  heroine's  attainment  of  her  wish — ap- 
pear natural,  the  poet  had,  as  it  were,  to  take  into  his 
service  a  number  of  figures  simply  as  motives  and  to 
bring  the  action  to  a  close.  But  the  very  choice  of  this 
subject,  and  his  adhering  to  it,  in  spite  of  its  obvious 
difficulties,  shows  us  the  youthful  poet,  the  youthful 
pleasure  in  that  which  is  unusual,  the  youthful  incHna- 
tion  to  venture  upon  a  task  the  difficulties  of  which  have 
not  been  sufficiently  considered. 

Ulrici:  Shakspeare's  Dramatic  Art. 


All 's  Well  that  Ends  Well  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing 
of  our  author's  comedies.  The  interest  is,  however, 
more  of  a  serious  than  of  a  comic  nature.  The  character 
of  Helena  is  one  of  great  sweetness  and  delicacy.  She 
is  placed  in  circumstances  of  the  most  critical  kind,  and 
has  to  court  her  husband  both  as  a  virgin  and  a  wife; 
yet  the  most  scrupulous  nicety  of  female  modesty  is  not 
once  violated.  There  is  not  one  thought  or  action  that 
ought  to  bring  a  blush  into  her  cheeks,  or  that  for  a 
moment  lessens  her  in  our  esteem.  Perhaps  the  ro- 
mantic attachment  of  a  beautiful  and  virtuous  girl  to 
one  placed  above  her  hopes  by  the  circumstances  of 
birth  and  fortune,  was  never  so  exquisitely  expressed  as 

17 


Comments  ALL'S  WELL 

in  the  reflections  which  she  utters  when  young  Rousillon 
leaves  his  mother's  house,  under  whose  protection  she 
has  been  brought  up  with  him,  to  repair  to  the  French 
king's  court. 

The  interest  excited  by  this  beautiful  picture  of  a  fond 
and  innocent  heart  is  kept  up  afterwards  by  her  reso- 
lution to  follow  him  to  France,  the  success  of  her  ex- 
periment in  restoring  the  King's  health,  her  demanding 
Bertram  in  marriage  as  a  recompense,  his  leaving  her 
in  disdain,  her  interview  with  him  afterwards  disguised 
as  Diana,  a  young  lady  whom  he  importunes  with  his 
secret  addresses,  and  their  final  reconciliation  when  the 
consequences  of  her  stratagem  and  the  proofs  of  her 
love  are  fully  made  known.  The  persevering  gratitude 
of  the  French  king  to  his  benefactress,  who  cures  him 
of  a  languishing  distemper  by  a  prescription  hereditary 
in  her  family,  the  indulgent  kindness  of  the  Countess, 
whose  pride  of  birth  yields,  almost  without  a  struggle, 
to  her  aftection  for  Helena,  the  honesty  and  uprightness 
of  the  good  old  lord  Lafeu,  make  very  interesting  parts 
of  the  picture.  The  wilful  stubbornness  and  youthful 
petulance  of  Bertram  are  also  very  admirably  described. 
The  comic  part  of  the  play  turns  on  the  folly,  boasting, 
and  cowardice  of  Parolles,  a  parasite  and  hanger-on  of 
Bertram's,  the  detection  of  whose  false  pretensions  to 
bravery  and  honour  forms  a  very  amusing  episode.  He 
is  first  found  out  by  the  old  lord  Lafeu,  who  says,  "  The 
soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes  ";  and  it  is  proved  after- 
wards that  his  heart  is  in  his  tongue,  and  that  both  are 
false  and  hollow.  The  adventure  of  *'  the  bringing  ofif  of 
his  drum "  has  become  proverbial  as  a  satire  on  all 
ridiculous  and  blustering  undertakings  which  the  person 
never  means  to  perform. 

Hazlitt:  Characters  of  Shakspear's  Plays. 


The  comic  scenes,  and  the  general  graceful  ease  and 
fluency  of  its  diction,  give  an  air  of  lightness  and  variety 

i8 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Comments 

to  the  play  that  are  wanting  in  the  novel.  The  mere 
story  is  not  productive  of  more  effect  in  one  than  in  the 
other,  and  the  drama  makes  no  pretensions  to  rank  in 
the  first  order  of  excellence.  But  a  value  is  conferred 
upon  Shakspeare's  performance  beyond  its  dramatic 
merit,  by  its  being  the  repository  of  much  sententious 
wisdom,  and  numerous  passages  of  remarkable  ele- 
gance. A  single  speech  of  the  King  may  be  referred  to 
as  an  instance  of  both,  and  Helena's  description  of  her 
hopeless  passion  may  be  selected  as  exquisitely  beauti- 
ful. 

Skottowe  :  Life  of  Skakspeare. 


Shakespeare  departed  widely  from  the  story  in  its 
earlier  form  by  the  greater  prominence  given  to  the  part 
of  Helena  and  the  singular  sweetness  and  devotion  which 
irradiate  her  whole  course.  Coleridge  thought  her 
Shakespeare's  loveliest  creation.  The  portraiture  of  her 
character  is  touched  throughout  with  exquisite  delicacy 
and  skill.  Helena  suffers,  however,  from  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  play,  which  is  distinctly  repellent;  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  resist  the  feeling  that,  conceding  all  that  the 
play  demands  in  concentration  of  interest  upon  the  single 
end  to  be  achieved,  Helena  cheapens  the  love  she  finally 
wins  by  a  sacrifice  greater  than  love  could  ask  or  could 
afford  to  receive.  And  when  the  sacrifice  is  made  and 
the  end  secured,  the  victory  of  love  is  purely  external; 
there  is  no  inward  and  deathless  unity  of  passion  be- 
tween the  lovers  like  that  which  united  Posthumus  and 
Imogen  in  life  and  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  death. 

The  play  must  be  interpreted  broadly  in  the  light  of 
Shakespeare's  entire  work;  in  this  light  it  finds  its  place 
as  the  expression  of  a  passing  mood  of  deep  and  almost 
cynical  distrust;  it  is  full  of  that  searching  irony  which 
from  time  to  time  finds  utterance  in  the  poet's  work 
and  was  inevitable  in  a  mind  of  such  range  of  vision. 
It  is  well  to  remember,  also,  that  in  this  play  the  poet, 

19 


Comments 

for  the  sake  of  throwing  a  single  quality  into  the  highest 
relief,  secured  entire  concentration  of  attention  by  dis- 
regarding or  ignoring  other  qualities  and  relations  of 
equal  importance  and  authority.  This  was  what  Brown- 
ing did  in  his  much  misunderstood  poem  *'  The  Statue 
and  the  Bust."  It  is  always  a  perilous  experiment,  be- 
cause it  involves  so  much  intelligent  cooperation  on 
the  part  of  the  reader.  It  is  a  triumph  of  Shakespeare's 
art  that  Helena's  purity  not  only  survives  the  dangers  to 
which  she  exposes  it,  but  takes  on  a  kind  of  saintly 
whiteness  in  the  corruption  in  which  she  plays  her  peril- 
ous part. 
Mabie:  William  Shakespeare:  Poet,  Dramatist,  and  Man, 


All's  Well  that  Ends  Well. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAE, 

King  of  France. 

Duke  of  Florence. 

Bertram^  Count  of  Rousillon. 

Lafeu,  an  old  lord. 

Parolles,  a  follower  of  Bertram. 

Steward,  )     servants  to  the  Countess 

Lavache,  a  clown,     )  of  Rousillon. 

A  Page. 

Countess  of  Rousillon,  mother  to  Bertram. 
Helena,  a  gentlewomaii  protected  by  the  Countess. 
An  old  Widow  of  Florence. 
Diana,  daughter  to  the  Widow. 

ViOLENTA,    ")  . 

yr  >    neighbours  and  friends  to  the  Widow. 

Lords,  Officers,  Soldiers,  etc.,  French  and  Florentine. 
Scene:   Rousillon;  Paris;   Florence;   Marseilles. 


ALL  'S  WELL  THAT  ENDS  WELL 

ACT  FIRST. 
Scene  I. 

Rousillon.     The   Count's  palace. 

Enter  Bertram,  the  Countess  of  Rousillon,  Helena,  and 
La  feu,  all  in  black. 

Count.  In  delivering  my  son  from  me,  I  bury  a  sec- 
ond husband. 

Ber.  And  I  in  going,  madam,  weep  o'er  my  father's 
death  anew :  but  I  must  attend  his  majesty's 
command,  to  whom  I  am  now  in  ward,  ever- 
more in  subjection. 

Laf.  You  shall  find  of  the  king  a  husband,  madam ; 
you,  sir,  a  father:  he  that  so  generally  is  at  all 
times  good,  must  of  necessity  hold  his  virtue  to 
you;  whose  worthiness  would  stir  it  up  where  lo 
it  wanted,  rather  than  lack  it  where  there  is  such 
abundance. 

Count.  What  hope  is  there  of  his  majesty's  am.end- 
ment? 

Laf.  He  hath  abandoned  his  physicians,  madam ; 
under  whose  practices  he  hath  persecuted  time 
with  hope,  and  finds  no  other  advantage  in  the 
process  but  only  the  losing  of  hope  by  time. 

Count.  This  young  gentlewoman  had  a  father, — O, 

that   '  had  ' !    how   sad   a  passage   'tis  ! — whose     20 

23 


Act  I.  Sc.  i.  ALL'S  WELL 

skill  was  ^Jniosr  as  gf^at  as  his  honesty;  had 
it  stretched  so  far,  would  have  made  nature  im- 
mortal, and  death  should  have  play  for  lack  of 
work.  Would,  for  the  king's  sake,  he  were  liv- 
ing !  I  think  it  would  be  the  death  of  the  king's 
disease. 

Laf.  How  called  you  the  man  you  speak  of,  madam  ? 

Count.  He  was  famous,  sir,  in  his  profession,  and  it 
was  his  great  right  to  be  so, — Gerard  de  Nar- 
bon.  30 

Laf.  He  v/as  excellent  indeed,  madam  :  the  king  very 
lately  spoke  of  him  admiringly  and  mourningly : 
he  was  skilful  enough  to  have  lived  still,  if 
knowledge  could  be  set  up  against  mortality. 

Ber.  What  is  it,  my  good  lord,  the  king  languishes 
of? 

Laf.  A  fistula,  my  lord. 

Ber.  I  heard  not  of  it  before. 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  not  notorious.  Was  this  gen- 
tlewoman the  daughter  of  Gerard  de  Narbon?      40 

Count.  His  sole  child,  my  lord ;  and  bequeathed  to 
my  overlooking.  I  have  those  hopes  of  her 
good  that  her  education  promises ;  her  disposi- 
tions she  inherits,  which  makes  fair  gifts  fairer ; 
for  where  an  unclean  mind  carries  virtuous 
qualities,  there  commendations  go  with  pity; 
they  are  virtues  and  traitors  too :  in  her  they  are 
the  better  for  their  simpleness ;  she  derives  her 
honesty  and  achieves  her  goodness. 

Laf.  Your   commendations,    madam,    gti    from   her     50 
tears. 

Count.  'Tis  the  best  brine  a  maiden  can  season  her 

24 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  i. 

praise  in.  The  remembrance  of  her  father  never 
approaches  her  heart  but  the  tyranny  of  her 
sorrows  takes  all  livelihood  from  her  cheek. 
No  more  of  this,  Helena,  go  to,  no  more ;  lest 
it  be  rather  thought  you  affect  a  sorrow  than  to 
have — 

Hel.  I  do  affect  a  sorrow,  indeed,  but  I  have  it  too. 

Laf.  Moderate  lamentation  is  the  right  of  the  dead ;     60 
excessive  grief  the  enemy  to  the  living. 

Count.  If  the  living  be  enemy  to  the  grief,  the  excess 
makes  it  soon  mortal. 

Ber.  Madam,  I  desire  your  holy  wishes. 

Laf.  How  understand  we  that  ? 

Count.  Be    thou    blest,    Bertram,    and    succeed    thy 
father 
In  manners,  as  in  shape !   thy  blood  and  virtue 
Contend  for  empire  in  thee,  and  thy  goodness 
Share  with  thy  birthright !     Love  all,  trust  a  few, 
Do  wrong  to  none  :   be  able  for  thine  enemy  70 

Rather  in  power  than  use ;  and  keep  thy  friend 
Under  thy  own  life's  key :   be  check'd  for  silence. 
But  never  tax'd  for  speech.     What  heaven  more  will. 
That  thee  may  furnish,  and  my  prayers  pluck  down. 
Fall  on  thy  head !     Farewell,  my  lord  ; 
'Tis  an  unseason'd  courtier ;   good  my  lord. 
Advise  him. 

Laf.  He  cannot  want  the  best 

That  shall  attend  his  love. 

Count.  Heaven  bless  him  !     Farewell,  Bertram.         [Exit. 

Bcr.    [To  Helena^  The  best  wishes  that  can  be  forged     80 
in  your  thoughts  be  servants  to  you !     Be  com- 
fortable to  my  mother,  your  mistress,  and  make 
much  of  her. 

25 


Act  I.  Sc.  i.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Laf.  Farewell,  pretty  lady :  you  must  hold  the  credit 

of  your  father.  [Exeunt  Bertram  and  Laf  en. 

Hel.  O,  were  that  all !     I  think  not  on  my  father ; 

And  these  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  more 

Than  those  I  shed  for  him.     What  was  he  like  ? 

I  have  forgot  him  :  my  imagination 

Carries  no  favour  in  't  but  Bertram's.  90 

I  am  undone :  there  is  no  living,  none, 

If  Bertram  be  away.     'Twere  all  one 

That  I  should  love  a  bright  particular  star 

And  think  to  wed  it,  he  is  so  above  me : 

In  his  bright  radiance  and  collateral  light 

Must  I  be  comforted,  not  in  his  sphere. 

The  ambition  in  my  love  thus  plagues  itself: 

The  hind  that  would  be  mated  by  the  lion 

Must  die  for  love.     'Twas  pretty,  though  a  plague, 

To  see  him.  every  hour;   to  sit  and  draw  100 

His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curls. 

In  our  heart's  table ;   heart  too  capable 

Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour : 

But  now  he  's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 

Must  sanctify  his  reUques.     Who  comes  here? 

Enter  Parolles. 

[Aside]   One  that  goes  with  him  :  I  love  him  for  his  sake ; 
And  yet  I  know  him  a  notorious  liar, 
Think  him  a  great  way  fool,  solely  a  coward ; 
Yet  these  fix'd  evils  sit  so  fit  in  him. 
That  they  take  place,  when  virtue's  steely  bones  no 
Look  bleak  i'  the  cold  wind :  withal,  full  oft  we  see 
Cold  wisdom  waiting  on  superfluous  folly. 

Par.  Save  you,  fair  queen  ! 

26 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  i. 

Hel.  And  you,  monarch ! 

Par.  No. 

Hel.  And  no. 

Par.  Are  you  meditating  on  virginity  ? 

HeL  Ay.  You  have  some  stain  of  soldier  in  you: 
let  me  ask  you  a  question.  Man  is  enemy  to 
virginity ;  how  may  we  barricado  it  against  him  ?  120 

Par.  Keep  him  out. 

Hel.  But  he  assails ;  and  our  virginity,  though  val- 
iant, in  the  defence  yet  is  weak:  unfold  to  us 
some  warlike  resistance. 

Par.  There  is  none:  man,  sitting  down  before  you, 
will  undermine  you  and  blow  you  up. 

Hel.  Bless  our  poor  virginity  from  underminers  and 
blowers  up !  Is  there  no  military  policy,  how 
virgins  might  blow  up  men  ? 

Par.  Virginity  being  blown  down,  man  will  quicklier  130 
be  blown  up :  marry,  .  in  blowing  him  down 
again,  with  the  breach  yourselves  made,  you  lose 
your  city.  It  is  not  politic  in  the  common- 
wealth of  nature  to  preserve  virginity.  Loss  of 
virginity  is  rational  increase,  and  there  was 
never  virgin  got  till  virginity  was  first  lost.  That 
you  were  made  of  is  metal  to  make  virgins. 
Virginity  by  being  once  lost  may  be  ten  times 
found ;  by  being  ever  kept,  it  is  ever  lost :  'tis 
too  cold  a  companion  ;  away  with  't !  140 

Hel.  I  will  stand  for  't  a  little,  though  therefore  I 
die  a  virgin. 

Par.  There  's  little  can  be  said  in  't ;  'tis  against  the 
rule  of  nature.  To  speak  on  the  part  of  vir- 
ginity, is  to  accuse  your  mothers ;  which  is  most 

27 


Act  I.  Sc.  i.  ALL  'S  WELL 

infallible  disobedience.  He  that  hangs  himself 
is  a  virgin  :  virginity  murders  itself  ;  and  should 
be  buried  in  highways  out  of  all  sanctified  limit, 
as  a  desperate  offendress  against  nature.  Vir- 
ginity breeds  mites,  much  like  a  cheese;  con-  150 
sumes  itself  to  the  very  paring  and  so  dies  with 
feeding  his  own  stomach.  Besides,  virginity  is 
peevish,  proud,  idle,  made  of  self-love,  which  is 
the  most  inhibited  sin  in  the  canon.  Keep  it  not ; 
you  cannot  choose  but  lose  by  't ;  out  with  't ! 
within  ten  year  it  will  make  itself  ten,  which  is  a 
goodly  increase ;  and  the  principal  itself  not 
much  the  worse :  away  with  't ! 

Hel.  How  might  one  do,  sir,  to  lose  it  to  her  own 
liking  ? 

Par.  Let  me  see :  marry,  ill,  to  like  him  that  ne'er  160 
it  likes.  'Tis  a  commodity  will  lose  the  gloss 
with  lying ;  the  longer  kept,  the  less  worth :  off 
with  't  while  'tis  vendible :  answer  the  time  of 
request.  Virginity,  like  an  old  courtier,  wears 
her  cap  out  of  fashion ;  richly  suited,  but  un- 
suitable :  just  Hke  the  brooch  and  the  tooth-pick, 
which  wear  not  now.  Your  date  is  better  in 
your  pie  and  your  porridge  than  in  your  cheek : 
and  your  virginity,  your  old  virginity,  is  like  one 
of  our  French  withered  pears,  it  looks  ill,  it  eats  170 
drily ;  marry,  'tis  a  withered  pear ;  it  was  for- 
merly better;  marry,  yet  'tis  a  withered  pear: 
will  you  any  thing  with  it? 

Hel.  Not  my  virginity  yet. — [You  're  for  the  Court;] 
There  shall  your  master  have  a  thousand  loves, 
A  mother  and  a  mistress  and  a  friend, 
A  phoenix,  captain,  and  an  enemy, 

28 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  i. 

A  guide,  a  goddess,  and  a  sovereign, 

A  counsellor,  a  traitress,  and  a  dear ; 

His  humble  ambition,  proud  humility,  i8o 

His  jarring  concord,  and  his  discord  dulcet, 

His  faith,  his  sweet  disaster ;   with  a  world 

Of  pretty,  fond,  adoptions  Christendoms, 

That  blinking  Cupid  gossips.     Now  shall  he — 

I  know  not  what  he  shall.     God  send  him  well ! 

The  court 's  a  learning  place,  and  he  is  one — 

Par.  What  one,  i'  faith? 

Hel.  That  I  wnsh  well.     'Tis  pity — 

Par.  What 's  pity  ? 

Hel.  That  wishing  well  had  not  a  body  in  't,  190 

Which  might  be  felt ;  that  we,  the  poorer  born, 
Whose  baser  stars  do  shut  us  up  in  wishes. 
Might  with  effects  of  them  follow  our  friends, 
And  show  what  we  alone  must  think,  which  never 
Returns  us  thanks. 

Enter  Page, 

Page.  Monsieur  Parolles,  my  lord  calls  for  you.       [Exit. 
Par.  Little  Helen,  farewell ;   if  I  can  remember  thee, 

I  will  think  of  thee  at  court. 
Hel.  Monsieur    Parolles,    you    were    born    under    a 

charitable  star.  200 

Par.  Under  Mars,  L 
Hel.  I  especially  think,  under  Mars. 
Par.  Why  under  Mars? 
HeL  The  wars  have  so  kept  you  under,  that  you  must 

needs  be  bom  under  Mars. 
Par.  When  he  was  predominant. 
Hel.  When  he  was  retrograde,  I  think,  rather. 

29 


Actl.  Sc.  i.  ALL'S  WELL 

Par.  Why  think  you  so  ? 

Hel.  You  go  so  much  backward  when  you  fight. 

Par.  That 's  for  advantage.  210 

Hel.  So  is  running  away,  when  fear  proposes  the 
safety  :  but  the  composition  that  your  valour  and 
fear  makes  in  you  is  a  virtue  of  a  good  wing, 
and  I  hke  the  wear  well. 

Par.  I  am  so  full  of  businesses,  I  cannot  answer  thee 
acutely.  I  will  return  perfect  courtier;  in  the 
which,  my  instruction  shall  serve  to  naturalize 
thee,  so  thou  wilt  be  capable  of  a  courtier's  coun- 
sel, and  understand  what  advice  shall  thrust 
upon  thee ;  else  thou  diest  in  thine  unthankful-  220 
ness,  and  thine  ignorance  makes  thee  away : 
farewell.  When  thou  hast  leisure,  say  thy 
prayers ;  when  thou  hast  none,  remember  thy 
friends :  get  thee  a  good  husband,  and  use  him 
as  he  uses  thee :   so,  farewell.  [Exit. 

Hel.  Our  remedies  oft  in  ourselves  do  lie, 

Which  we  ascribe  to  heaven  :   the  fated  sky 
Gives  us  free  scope ;   only  doth  backward  pull 
Our  slow  designs  when  we  ourselves  are  dull. 
What  power  is  it  which  mounts  my  love  so  high ;  230 
That  makes  me  see,  and  cannot  feed  mine  eye  ? 
The  mightiest  space  in  fortune  nature  brings 
To  join  like  likes  and  kiss  like  native  things. 
Impossible  be  strange  attempts  to  those 
That  weigh  their  pains  in  sense,  and  do  suppose 
What  hath  been  cannot  be :   who  ever  strove 
To  show  her  merit,  that  did  miss  her  love  ? 
The  king's  disease — my  project  may  deceive  me, 
But  my  intents  are  fix'd,  and  will  not  leave  me. 

[Exit 

30 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  ii. 

Scene  IL 

Paris.     The  King's  paiace. 

Flourish  of  cornets.     Enter  the  King  of  France  with  let- 
ters and  divers  Attendants. 

King.  The  Florentines  and  Senoys  are  by  the  ears ; 
Have  fought  with  equal  fortune,  and  continue 
A  braving  war. 

First  Lord.  So  'tis  reported,  sir. 

King.  Nay,  'tis  most  credible ;  we  here  receive  it 
A  certainty,  vouch'd  from  our  cousin  Austria, 
With  caution,  that  the  Florentine  will  move  us 
For  speedy  aid ;   wherein  our  dearest  friend 
Prejudicates  the  business,  and  would  seem 
To  have  us  make  denial. 

First  Lord.  His  love  and  wisdom,         lO 

Approved  so  to  your  majesty,  may  plead 
For  amplest  credence. 

King.  He  hath  arm'd  our  answer, 

And  Florence  is  denied  before  he  comes : 
Yet,  for  our  gentlemen  that  mean  to  see 
The  Tuscan  service,  freely  have  they  leave 
To  stand  on  either  part. 

Sec.  Lord.  It  well  may  serve 

A  nursery  to  our  gentry,  who  are  sick 
For  breathing  and  exploit. 

King.  What 's  he  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

Firsi  Lord.  It  is  the  Count  Rousillon,  my  good  lord. 

Young  Bertram. 
King,  Youth,  thou  bear'st  thy  father's  face ;  20 

31 


Act  I.  Sc.  ii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Frank  nature,  rather  curious  than  in  haste, 

Hath  well  composed  thee.     Thy  father's  moral  parts 

Mayst  thou  inherit  too !     \\^elcome  to  Paris. 

Ber.  Aly  thanks  and  duty  are  your  majesty's. 

King.  I  would  I  had  that  corporal  soundness  now, 
As  when  thy  father  and  myself  in  friendship 
First  tried  our  soldiership  !     He  did  look  far 
Into  the  service  of  the  time,  and  was 
Discipled  of  the  bravest :  he  lasted  long ; 
But  on  us  both  did  haggish  age  steal  on,  30 

And  wore  us  out  of  act.     It  much  repairs  me 
To  talk  of  your  good  father.     In  his  youth 
He  had  the  wit,  which  I  can  well  observe 
To-day  in  our  young  lords ;   but  they  may  jest 
Till  their  own  scorn  return  to  them  unnoted 
Ere  they  can  hide  their  levity  in  honour : 
So  like  a  courtier,  contempt  nor  bitterness 
Were  in  his  pride  or  sharpness ;  if  they  were, 
His  equal  had  awaked  them ;   and  his  honour, 
Clock  to  itself,  knew  the  true  minute  when  40 

Exception  bid  him  speak,  and  at  this  time 
His  tongue  obey'd  his  hand :  who  were  below  him 
He  used  as  creatures  of  another  place ; 
And  bow'd  his  eminent  top  to  their  low  ranks, 
Making  them  proud  of  his  humility. 
In  their  poor  praise  he  humbled.     Such  a  man 
Might  be  a  copy  to  these  younger  times ; 
Which,  follow'd  well,  would  demonstrate  them  now 
But  goers  backward. 
Ber.  His  good  remembrance,  sir, 

Lies  richer  in  your  thoughts  than  on  his  tomb ;      50 
So  in  approof  lives  not  his  epitaph 

32 


TrtAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  ii. 

As  in  your  royal  speech. 

King.  Would  I  were  with  him  !     He  would  always  say — 
Methinks  I  hear  him  now ;   his  plausive  words 
He  scatter'd  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them, 
To  grow  there  and  to  bear, — '  Let  me  not  live/ — 
This  his  good  melancholy  oft  began, 
On  the  catastrophe  and  heel  of  pastime, 
When  it  was  out, — '  Let  me  not  live,'  quoth  he, 
*  After  my  flame  lacks  oil,  to  be  the  snuff  60 

Of  younger  spirits,  whose  apprehensive  senses 
All  but  new  things  disdain  ;  whose  judgements  are 
Mere  fathers  of  their  garments ;   whose  constancies 
Expire  before  their  fashions.'     This  he  wish'd : 
I  after  him  do  after  him  wish  too. 
Since  I  nor  wax  nor  honey  can  bring  home, 
I  quickly  were  dissolved  from  my  hive, 
To  give  some  labourers  room. 

Sec.  Lord.  You  are  loved,  sir; 

They  that  least  lend  it  you  shall  lack  you  first. 

King.  I  fill  a  place,  I  know  't.    How  long  is  't,  count,    70 
Since  the  physician  at  your  father's  died  ? 
He  was  much  famed. 

Ber.  Some  six  months  since,  my  lord. 

King.  If  he  were  living,  I  would  try  him  yet. 

Lend  me  an  arm  ;  the  rest  have  worn  me  out 
With  several  applications  :  nature  and  sickness 
Debate  it  at  their  leisure.     Welcome,  count ; 
My  son  's  no  dearer. 

Ber.  Thank  your  majesty. 

[Exeunt.     Flourish. 


33 


Actl.Sc.  iii.    .  ALL^S  WELL 

Scene  IIL 

Ronsillon.     The  Count's  palace. 
Enter  Countess,  Stezvard,  and  Clozvn. 
Count.  I  will  now  hear ;  what  say  you  of  this  gentle- 


woman 


Stew.  Madam,  the  care  I  have  had  to  even  your  con- 
tent, I  wish  might  be  found  in  the  calendar  of 
my  past  endeavours ;  for  then  we  wound  our 
modesty  and  make  foul  the  clearness  of  our  de- 
servings,  when  of  ourselves  we  publish  them. 

Count.  What  does  this  knave  here?  Get  you  gone, 
sirrah :  the  complaints  I  have  heard  of  you  I  do 
not  all  believe :  'tis  my  slowness  that  I  do  not ;  lo 
for  I  know  you  lack  not  folly  to  commit  them, 
and  have  ability  enough  to  make  such  knaveries 
yours. 

Clo.  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  madam,  I  am  a  poor 
fellow. 

Count.  Well,  sir. 

Clo.  No,  madam,  'tis  not  so  well  that  I  am  poor, 
though  many  of  the  rich  are  damned:    but,  if  I 
may  have  your  ladyship's  good  will  to  go  to  the 
world,   Isbel  the  woman  and  I  will  do  as  we     20 
may. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  needs  be  a  beggar  ? 

Clo.  I  do  beg  your  good  will  in  this  case. 

Count.  In  what  case  ? 

Clo.  In  Isbel's  case  and  mine  own.  Service  is  no 
heritage:  and  I  think  I  shall  never  have  the 
blessing  of  God  till  I  have  issue  o'  my  body; 
for  they  say  barnes  are  blessings. 

34 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc,  iii. 

Count.  Tell  me  thy  reason  why  thou  wilt  marry. 

Clo.  My  poor  body,  madam,  requires  it :   I  am  driven     30 
on  by  the  flesh ;   and  he  must  needs  go  that  the 
devil  drives. 

Count.  Is  this  all  your  worship's  reason? 

Clo.  Faith,  madam,  I  have  other  holy  reasons,  such 
as  they  are. 

Count.  May  the  world  know  them  ? 

Clo.  I  have  been,  madam,  a  wicked  creature,  as  you 
and  all  flesh  and  blood  are ;  and,  indeed,  I  do 
marry  that  I  may  repent. 

Count.  Thy  marriage,  sooner  than  thy  wickedness.        40 

Clo.  I  am  out  o'  friends,  madam ;  and  1  hope  to  have 
friends  for  my  wife's' sake. 

Count.  Such  friends  are  thine  enemies,  knave. 

Clo.  You  're  shallow,  madam,  in  great  friends ;  for 
the  knaves  come  to  do  that  for  me,  which  I  am 
aweary  of.  He  that  ears  my  land  spares  my 
team,  and  gives  me  leave  to  in  the  crop ;  if  I  be 
his  cuckold,  he  's  my  drudge :  he  that  comforts 
my  wife  is  the  cherisher  of  my  flesh  and  blood ; 
he  that  cherishes  my  flesh  and  blood  loves  my  50 
flesh  and  blood  ;  he  that  loves  my  flesh  and  blood 
is  my  friend :  ergo,  he  that  kisses  my  wife  is  my 
friend.  If  men  could  be  contented  to  be  what 
they  are,  there  were  no  fear  in  marriage;  for 
young  Charbon  the  puritan  and  old  Poysam  the 
papist,  howsome'er  their  hearts  are  severed  in 
religion,  their  heads  are  both  one  ;  they  may  joul 
horns  together,  like  any  deer  i'  the  herd. 

Count.  Wilt  thou  ever  be  a  foul-mouthed  and  calum- 
nious knave?  60 

35 


Act  I.  Sc.  iii. 


ALL  'S  WELL 


Clo.  A  prophet  I,  madam 
next  way : 


and  I  speak  the  truth  the 


For  I  the  ballad  will  repeat, 

Which  men  full  true  shall  find  ; 

Your  marriage  comes  by  destiny, 
Your  cuckoo  sings  by  kind. 

Count.  Get  you  gone,  sir ;    I  '11  talk  with  you  more 

anon. 
Stew.  May  it  please  you,  madam,  that  he  bid  Helen 

come  to  you :   of  her  I  am  to  speak.  70 

Count.  Sirrah,  tell  my  gentlewoman  I  would  speak 

with  her ;   Helen  I  mean. 


Clo,  Was  this  fair  face  the  cause,  quoth  she, 

Why  the  Grecians  sacked  Troy  ? 
Fond  done,  done  fond, 

Was  this  King  Priam's  joy? 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 
With  that  she  sighed  as  she  stood, 

And  gave  this  sentence  then  ; 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good, 
Among  nine  bad  if  one  be  good. 

There  's  yet  one  good  in  ten. 

Count.  What,   one  good   in  ten?    you   corrupt  the 


song,  sirrah. 
Clo.  One  good  woman  in  ten,  madam;  which  is  a 
purifying  o'  the  song:  would  God  would  serve 
the  world  so  all  the  year!  we'd  find  no  fault 
with  the  tithe-woman,  if  I  were  the  parson :  one 
in  ten,  quoth  a' !  an  we  might  have  a  good 
woman  born  but  one  every  blazing  star,  or  at  an 

2^ 


80 


90 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  iii. 

earthquake,   'twould  mend  the  lottery  well:    a 
man  may  draw  his  heart  out,  ere  a'  pluck  one. 

Count.  You  '11  be  gone,  sir  knave,  and  do  as  I  com- 
mand you. 

Clo.  That  man  should  be  at  woman's  command,  and 
yet  no  hurt  done !  Though  honesty  be  no  puri- 
tan, yet  it  will  do  no  hurt ;  it  will  wear  the  sur- 
plice of  humility  over  the  black  gown  of  a  big 
heart.  I  am  going,  forsooth :  the  business  is  for 
Helen  to  come  hither.  [Exit   lOO 

Count.  Well,  now. 

Stew.  I  know,  madam,  you  love  your  gentlewoman 
entirely. 

Count.  Faith,  I  do :  her  father  bequeathed  her  to  me ; 
and  she  herself,  without  other  advantage,  may 
lawfully  make  title  to  as  much  love  as  she  finds : 
there  is  more  owing  her  than  is  paid ;  and  more 
shall  be  paid  her  than  she  '11  demand. 

Stew.  Madam,  I  was  very  late  more  near  her  than  I 

think  she  wished  me:  alone  she  was,  and  did  no 
communicate  to  herself  her  own  words  to  her 
own  ears ;  she  thought,  I  dare  vow  for  her,  they 
touched  not  any  stranger  sense.  Her  matter 
was,  she  loved  your  son :  Fortune,  she  said,  was 
no  goddess,  that  had  put  such  difference  betwixt 
their  two  estates ;  Love  no  god,  that  would  not 
extend  his  might,  only  where  qualities  were 
level ;  .  .  .  queen  of  virgins,  that  would  suffer 
her  poor  knight  surprised,  without  rescue  in  the 
first  assault,  or  ransom  afterward.  This  she  120 
delivered  in  the  most  bitter  touch  of  sorrow  that 
e'er  I  heard  virgin  exclaim  in :   which  I  held  my 

37 


Act  I.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

duty  speedily  to  acquaint  you  withal ;  sithence, 
in  the  loss  that  may  happen,  it  concerns  you 
something  to  know  it. 
Count.  You  have  discharged  this  honestly ;  keep  it 
to  yourself:  many  likelihoods  informed  me  of 
this  before,  which  hung  so  tottering  in  the  bal- 
ance, that  I  could  neither  believe  nor  misdoubt. 
Pray  you,  leave  me:  stall  this  in  your  bosom;  130 
and  I  thank  you  for  your  honest  care :  I  will 
speak  with  you  further  anon.  [Exit  Steward. 

Enter  Helena. 

Even  so  it  was  with  me  w^hen  I  was  young : 

If  ever  we  are  nature's,  these  are  ours  ;  this  thorn 
Doth  to  our  rose  of  youth  rightly  belong; 

Our  blood  to  us,  this  to  our  blood  is  born ; 
It  is  the  show  and  seal  of  nature's  truth. 
Where  love's  strong  passion  is  impress'd  in  youth ; 
By  our  remembrances  of  days  foregone. 
Such  were  our  faults,  or  then  we  thought  them  none. 
Her  eye  is  sick  on  't :  I  observe  her  now.  141 

Hel.  What  is  your  pleasure,  madam? 

Count.  You  knov/,  Helen, 

I  am  a  mother  to  you. 

Hel.  Mine  honourable  mistress. 

Count.  Nay,  a  mother : 

Why  not  a  mother  ?     When  I  said  '  a  mother,' 
Methought  you  saw  a  serpent :  what 's  in  '  mother,' 
That  you  start  at  it  ?     I  say,  I  am  your  mother ; 
And  put  you  in  the  catalogue  of  those 
That  were  enwombed  mine :   'tis  often  seen 
Adoption  strives  with  nature;  and  choice  breeds    150 

38 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  iii. 

A  native  slip  to  us  from  foreign  seeds : 
You  ne'er  oppress'd  me  with  a  mother's  groan, 
Yet  I  express  to  you  a  mother's  care : 
God's  mercy,  maiden !   does  it  curd  thy  blood 
To  say  I  am  thy  mother  ?     What 's  the  matter, 
That  this  distemper'd  messenger  of  wet, 
The  many-colour'd  Iris,  rounds  thine  eye  ? 
Why?   that  you  are  my  daughter? 

Hel.  That  I  am  not. 

Count.  I  say,  I  am  your  mother. 

Hel.  Pardon,  madam; 

The  Count  Rousillon  cannot  be  my  brother :  i6o 

I  am  from  humble,  he  from  honour'd  name; 

No  note  upon  my  parents,  his  all  noble ; 

My  master,  my  dear  lord  he  is ;  and  I 

His  servant  live  and  will  his  vassal  die : 

He  must  not  be  my  brother. 

Count.  Nor  I  your  mother? 

Hel.  You  are  my  mother,  madam;  would  you  were, — 
So  that  my  lord  your  son  were  not  my  brother, — 
Indeed  my  mother !  or  were  you  both  our  mothers, 
I  care' no  more  for  than  I  do  for  heaven, 
So  I  were  not  his  sister.     Can't  no  other,  170 

But  I  your  daughter,  he  must  be  my  brother  ? 

Count.  Yes,  Helen,  you  might  be  my  daughter-in-law : 
God  shield  you  mean  it  not !    daughter  and  mother 
So  strive  upon  your  pulse.     What,  pale  again  ? 
My  fear  hath  catch'd  your  fondness :  now  I  see 
The  mystery  of  your  loneliness,  and  find 
Your  salt  tears'  head  :  now  to  all  sense  'tis  gross 
You  love  my  son ;    invention  is  ashamed, 
Against  the  proclamation  of  thy  passion, 

39 


Actl.  Sc,  iii,  ALL'S  WELL 

To  say  thou  dost  not;   therefore  tell  me  true;       i8o 
But  tell  me  then,  'tis  so  ;   for,  look,  thy  cheeks 
Confess  it,  th'  one  to  th'  other ;  and  thine  eyes 
See  it  so  grossly  shown  in  thy  behaviours, 
That  in  their  kind  they  speak  it :   only  sin 
And  hellish  obstinacy  tie  thy  tongue, 
The  truth  should  be  suspected.    Speak,  is  't  so  ? 
If  it  be  so,  you  have  wound  a  goodly  clew ; 
If  it  be  not,  forswear  't :  howe'er,  I  charge  thee. 
As  heaven  shall  work  in  me  for  thine  avail, 
To  tell  me  truly. 
Hel.  Good  madam,  pardon  me!  190 

Count.  Do  you  love  my  son? 

Hel.  Your  pardon,  noble  mistress ! 

Count.  Love  you  my  son  ? 

Hel.  Do  not  you  love  him,  madam? 

Count.  Go  not  about ;  my  love  hath  in  't  a  bond, 

Whereof  the  world  takes  note :   come,  come,  disclose 
The  state  of  your  affection ;   for  your  passions 
Have  to  the  full  appeach'd. 
Hel.  Then,  I  confess, 

Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  heaven  and  you. 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  heaven, 
I  love  your  son. 

My  friends  were  poor,  but  honest ;  so  's  my  love :  200 
Be  not  offended ;   for  it  hurts  not  him 
That  he  is  loved  of  me :   I  follow  him  not 
By  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ; 
Nor  would  I  have  him  till  I  do  deserve  him ; 
Yet  never  know  how  that  desert  should  be. 
I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope ; 
Yet,  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve, 
40 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  L  Sc.  iii. 

I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love, 

And  lack  not  to  lose  still :   thus,  Indian-like, 

Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore  210 

The  sun,  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper. 

But  knows  of  him  no  more.     My  dearest  madam. 

Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love 

For  loving  where  you  do ;  but  if  yourself. 

Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth, 

Did  ever  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking 

Wish  chastely  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 

Was  both  herself  and  love ;   O,  then,  give  pity 

To  her,  whose  state  is  such,  that  cannot  choose 

But  lend  and  give  where  she  is  sure  to  lose ;  220 

That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies. 

But  riddle-like  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies ! 

Count.  Had  you  not  lately  an  intent, — speak  truly, — 
To  go  to  Paris  ? 

Hel.  Madam,  I  had. 

Count.  Wherefore  ?  tell  true. 

Hcl.  I  will  tell  truth ;   by  grace  itself  I  swear. 

You  know  my  father  left  me  some  prescriptions 

Of  rare  and  proved  effects,  such  as  his  reading 

And  manifest  experience  had  collected 

For  general  sovereignty;   and  that  he  will'd  me 

In  heedfuU'st  reservation  to  bestow  them,  230 

As  notes,  whose  faculties  inclusive  were, 

More  than  they  were  in  note :  amongst  the  rest. 

There  is  a  remedy,  approved,  set  down. 

To  cure  the  desperate  languishings  whereof 

The  king  is  rendered  lost. 

Count.  This  was  your  motive 

For  Paris,  was  it?  speak. 

41 


Act  I.  Sc.  iii.  ALL'S  WELL 

Hel.  My  lord  your  son  made  me  to  think  of  this ; 
Else  Paris,  and  the  medicine,  and  the  king, 
Had  from  the  conversation  of  my  thoughts 
Haply  been  absent  then. 

Count.  But  think  you,  Helen,      240 

If  you  should  tender  your  supposed  aid. 
He  would  receive  it  ?  he  and  his  physicians 
Are  of  a  mind ;   he,  that  they  cannot  help  him. 
They,  that  they  cannot  help :   how  shall  they  credit 
A  poor  unlearned  virgin,  when  the  schools, 
Embowell'd  of  their  doctrine,  have  left  off 
The  danger  to  itself  ? 

Hel.  There  's  something  in  't. 

More  than  my  father's  skill,  which  was  the  great'st 
Of  his  profession,  that  his  good  receipt 
Shall  for  my  legacy  be  sanctified  250 

By  the  luckiest  stars  in  heaven :    and,  would  your 

honour 
But  give  me  leave  to  try  success,  I  'Id  venture 
The  well-lost  life  of  mine  on  his  Grace's  cure 
By  such  a  day  and  hour. 

Count.  Dost  thou  believe  't? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam,  knowingly. 

Count.  Why,  Helen,  thou  shalt  have  my  leave  and  love, 
Means  and  attendants,  and  my  loving  greetings 
To  those  of  mine  in  court :  I  '11  stay  at  home 
And  pray  God's  blessings  into  thy  attempt : 
Be  gone  to-morrow ;   and  be  sure  of  this,  260 

What  I  can  help  thee  to,  thou  shalt  not  miss. 

[Exeunt. 


42 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  H.  Sc.  i. 

ACT  SECOND. 

Scene  L 

Paris.     The  King's  palace. 

Flourish  of  cornets.  Enter  the  King,  attended  with  di- 
vers young  Lords  taking  leave  for  the  Florentine 
war;  Bertram,  and  Parolles. 

King.  Farewell,  young  lords ;  these  warlike  principles 
Do  not  throw  from  you :    and  you,  my  lords,  fare- 
well : 
Share  the  advice  betwixt  you;   if  both  gain,  all 
The  gift  doth  stretch  itself  as  'tis  received. 
And  is  enough  for  both. 
First  Lord.  'Tis  our  hope,  sir, 

After  well-enter'd  soldiers,  to  return 
And  find  your  Grace  in  health. 
King.  No,  no,'it  cannot  be ;  and  yet  my  heart 
Will  not  confess  he  owes  the  malady 
That  doth  my  Hfe  besiege.    Farewell,  young  lords  ;  lo 
Whether  I  Hve  or  die,  be  you  the  sons 
Of  worthy  Frenchmen :   let  higher  Italy,— 
Those  bated  that  inherit  but  the  fall 
Of  the  last  monarchy,— see  that  you  come 
Not  to  woo  honour,  but  to  wed  it ;   when 
The  bravest  questant  shrinks,  find  what  you  seek. 
That  fame  may  cry  you  loud :   I  say,  farewell. 
Sec.  Lord.  Health,  at  your  bidding,  serve  your  majesty! 
King.  Those  girls  of  Italy,  take  heed  of  them : 

They  say,  our  French  lack  language  to  deny,  20 

If  they  demand :  beware  of  being  captives. 
Before  you  serve. 
^Qfli^  Our  hearts  receive  your  warnings. 


43 


Actll.Sc,  1.  ALL 'SWELL 

King.  Farewell.     Come  hither  to  me.  {Exit. 

First  Lord.  O  my  sweet  lord,  that  you  will  stay  behind  us  ! 

Par.  'Tis  not  his  fault,  the  spark. 

Sec.  Lord.  O,  'tis  brave  wars  ! 

Par.  Most  admirable :   I  have  seen  those  wars. 

Ber.  I  am  commanded  here,  and  kept  a  coil  with 

'  Too  young,'  and  '  the  next  year,'  and' 'tis  too  early.' 

Par.  An  thy  mind  stand  to  't,  boy,  steal  away  bravely. 

Ber.  I  shall  stay  here  the  forehorse  to  a  smock,  30 

Creaking  my  shoes  on  the  plain  masonry, 
Till  honour  be  bought  up,  and  no  sw^ord  worn 
But  one  to  dance  wuth !     By  heaven,  I  '11  steal  away. 

First  Lord.  There  's  honour  in  the  theft. 

Par.  Commit  it,  count. 

Sec.  Lord.  I  am  your  accessary  ;   and  so,  farewell. 

Ber.  I  grow  to  you,  and  our  parting  is  a  tortured  body. 

First  Lord.  Farewell,  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.  Sweet  Monsieur  ParoUes  ! 

Par.  Noble  heroes,  my  sword  and  yours  are  kin.  40 
Good  sparks  and  lustrous,  a  word,  good  metals : 
you  shall  find  in  the  regiment  of  the  Spinii  one 
Captain  Spurio,  with  his  cicatrice,  an  emblem  of 
war,  here  on  his  sinister  cheek;  it  was  this 
very  sword  entrenched  it :  say  to  him,  I  live ; 
and  observe  his  reports  for  me. 

First  Lord.  We  shall,  noble  captain.  [Exeunt  Lords. 

Par.  Mars  dote  on  you  for  his  novices !    what  will 
ye  do? 

Ber.   Stay  :   the  king.  50 

Re-enter  King. 

Par.    [Aside  to  Ber.]   Use  a  more  spacious  ceremony 
to  the  noble  lords ;    3^ou  have  restrained  your- 

44 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  i. 

self  within  the  Hst  of  too  cold  an  adieu :  be 
more  expressive  to  them :  for  they  wear  them- 
selves in  the  cap  of  the  time,  there  do  muster 
true  gait,  eat,  speak,  and  move  under  the  influ- 
ence of  the  most  received  star ;  and  though  the 
devil  lead  the  measure,  such  are  to  be  followed : 
after  them,  and  take  a  more  dilated  farewell. 
Ber.  And  I  will  do  so.  60 

Par.  Worthy  fellows  ;  and  like  to  prove  most  sinewy 

sword-men.  [Exeunt  Bertram  and  Parolles. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.   {Kneeling']   Pardon,  my  lord,  for  me  and  for  my 
tidings. 

King.  I  '11  fee  thee  to  stand  up. 

Laf.  Then  here  's  a  man  stands,  that  has  brought  his 
pardon. 
I  would  you  had  kneel'd,  my  lord,  to  ask  me  mercy ; 
And  that  at  my  bidding  you  could  so  stand  up. 

King.  I  would  I  had ;  so  I  had  broke  thy  pate, 
And  ask'd  thee  mercy  for  't. 

Laf.  Good  faith,  across :  but,  my  good  lord,  'tis  thus ;  70 
Will  you  be  cured  of  your  infirmity  ? 

King.  No. 

Laf.  O,  will  you  eat  no  grapes,  my  royal  fox  ? 
Yes,  but  you  will  my  noble  grapes,  an  if 
My  royal  fox  could  reach  them :  I  have  seen  a  medi- 
cine 
That 's  able  to  breathe  life  into  a  stone, 
Quicken  a  rock,  and  make  you  dance  canary 
With  spritely  fire  and  motion  ;  whose  simple  touch 
Is  powerful  to  araise  King  Pepin,  nay, 
To  give  great  Charlemain  a  pen  in  's  hand,  80 

45 


Act  II.  Sc.  i.  ALL'S  WELL 

And  write  to  her  a  love-line. 

King,  What  '  her  '  is  this  ? 

Laf.  Why,  Doctor  She :  my  lord,  there  's  one  arrived, 
If  you  vi^ill  see  her :  now,  by  my  faith  and  honour, 
If  seriously  I  may  convey  my  thoughts 
In  this  my  light  deliverance,  I  have  spoke 
With  one  that,  in  her  sex,  her  years,  profession. 
Wisdom  and  constancy,  hath  amazed  me  more 
Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness  :  will  you  see  her, 
For  that  is  her  demand,  and  know  her  business  ? 
That  done,  laugh  well  at  me. 

King.  Now,  good  Lafeu,     90 

Bring  in  the  admiration ;  that  we  with  thee 
May  spend  our  wonder  too,  or  take  off  thine 
By  wondering  how  thou  took'st  it. 

Laf.  Nay,  I  '11  fit  you. 

And  not  be  all  day  neither.  [Exit. 

King.  Thus  he  his  special  nothing  ever  prologues. 

Re-enter  Lafeu,  with  Helena. 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways. 

King.  This  haste  hath  wings  indeed. 

Laf.  Nay,  come  your  ways ; 

This  is  his  majesty,  say  your  mind  to  him : 

A  traitor  you  do  look  like ;  but  such  traitors 

His  majesty  seldom  fears :   I  am  Cressid's  uncle,  100 

That  dare  leave  two  together;    fare  you  well.  [Exit. 

King.  Now,  fair  one,  does  your  business  follow  us  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Gerard  de  Narbon  was  my  father; 
In  what  he  did  profess,  well  found. 

King,  I  knew  him. 

46 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  i. 

Hel.  The  rather  will  I  spare  my  praises  towards  him ; 
Knowing  him  is  enough.    On  's  bed  of  death 
Many  receipts  he  gave  me ;   chiefly  one, 
Which,  as  the  dearest  issue  of  his  practice, 
And  of  his  old  experience  the  only  darling,  no 

He  bade  me  store  up,  as  a  triple  eye, 
Safer  than  mine  own  two,  more  dear ;   I  have  so : 
And,  hearing  your  high  majesty  is  touch'd 
AVith  that  malignant  cause,  wherein  the  honour 
Of  my  dear  father's  gift  stands  chief  in  power, 
I  come  to  tender  it  and  my  appliance. 
With  all  bound  humbleness. 

King.  We  thank  you,  maiden ; 

But  may  not  be  so  credulous  of  cure, 
When  our  most  learned  doctors  leave  us,  and 
The  congregated  college  have  concluded  120 

That  labouring  art  can  never  ransom  nature 
From  her  inaidible  estate  ;  I  say  w^e  must  not 
So  stain  our  judgement,  or  corrupt  our  hope, 
To  prostitute  our  past-cure  malady 
To  empirics,  or  to  dissever  so 
Our  great  self  and  our  credit,  to  esteem 
A  senseless  help,  when  help  past  sense  we  deem. 

Hel.  My  duty,  then,  shall  pay  me  for  my  pains : 
I  will  no  more  enforce  mine  office  on  you ; 
Humbly  entreating  from  your  royal  thoughts         130 
A  modest  one,  to  bear  me  back  agam. 

King.  I  cannot  give  thee  less,  to  be  call'd  grateful : 

Thou  thought's!  to  help  me ;   and  such  thanks  I  give 
As  one  near  death  to  those  that  wish  him  live : 
But,  what  at  full  I  know,  thou  know'st  no  part ; 
I  knowing  all  my  peril,  thou  no  art, 

47 


Act  II.  Sc.  i.  ALL 'S  WELL 

HcL  What  I  can  do  can  do  no  hurt  to  try, 

Since  you  set  up  your  rest  'gainst  remedy. 

He  that  of  greatest  works  is  finisher, 

Oft  does  them  by  the  weakest  minister :  140 

So  holy  writ  in  babes  hath  judgement  shown, 

When  judges  have  been  babes ;    great  floods  have 

flown 
From  simple  sources ;   and  great  seas  have  dried, 
When  miracles  have  by  the  greatest  been  denied. 
Oft  expectation  fails,  and  most  oft  there 
W^here  most  it  promises ;   and  oft  it  hits 
Where  hope  is  coldest,  and  despair  most  fits. 

King.  I  must  not  hear  thee ;  fare  thee  well,  kind  maid ; 
Thy  pains  not  used  must  by  thyself  be  paid : 
Proffers  not  took  reap  thanks  for  their  reward.      150 

Hel.  Inspired  merit  so  by  breath  is  barr'd : 

It  is  not  so  with  Him  that  all  things  knows, 

As  'tis  with  us  that  square  our  guess  by  shows ; 

But  most  it  is  presumption  in  us  w^hen 

The  help  of  heaven  we  count  the  act  of  men. 

Dear  sir,  to  my  endeavours  give  consent ; 

Of  heaven,  not  me,  make  an  experiment. 

I  am  not  an  impostor,  that  proclaim 

Myself  against  the  level  of  mine  aim ; 

But  know  I  think,  and  think  I  know  most  sure,     160 

My  art  is  not  past  power,  nor  you  past  cure. 

King.  Art  thou  so  confident  ?  within  what  space 
Hopest  thou  my  cure? 

Hel.  The  great'st  grace  lending  grace, 

Ere  twice  the  horses  of  the  sun  shall  bring 
Their  fiery  torcher  his  diurnal  ring  ; 
Ere  twice  in  murk  and  occidental  damp 
Moist  Hesperus  hath  quench' d  his  sleepy  lamp ; 

48 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  i. 

Or  four  and  twenty  times  the  pilot's  glass 
Hath  told  the  thievish  minutes  how  they  pass ; 
What  is  infirm  from  your  sound  parts  shall  fly,      170 
Health  shall  live  free,  and  sickness  freely  die. 

King.  Upon  thy  certainty  and  confidence 
What  darest  thou  venture  ? 

Hel.  Tax  of  impudence, 

A  strumpet's  boldness,  a  divulged  shame 
Traduced  by  odious  ballads :   my  maiden's  name 
Sear'd  otherwise,  ne  worse  of  worst  extended, 
With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended. 

King.  Methinks  in  thee  some  blessed  spirit  doth  speak 
His  powerful  sound  within  an  organ  weak : 
And  what  impossibility  would  slay  180 

In  common  sense,  sense  saves  another  way. 
Thy  life  is  dear ;   for  all,  that  life  can  rate 
Worth  name  of  life,  in  thee  hath  estimate, 
Youth,  beauty,  wisdom,  courage,  all 
That  happiness  and  prime  can  happy  call : 
Thou  this  to  hazard  needs  must  intimate 
Skill  infinite  or  monstrous  desperate. 
Sweet  practiser,  thy  physic  I  will  try. 
That  ministers  thine  own  death  if  I  die. 

Hel.  If  I  break  time,  or  flinch  in  property  190 

Of  what  I  spoke,  unpitied  let  me  die. 
And  well  deserved :  not  helping,  death  's  my  fee ; 
But,  if  I  help,  what  do  you  promise  me  ? 

King.  Make  thy  demand. 

Hel.  But  will  you  make  it  even  ? 

King.  Ay,  by  my  sceptre  and  my  hopes  of  heaven. 

Hel.  Then  shalt  thou  give  me  with  thy  kingly  hand 
What  husband  in  thy  power  I  will  command : 

49 


Act  II.  Sc.  ii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Exempted  be  from  me  the  arrogance 

To  choose  from  forth  the  royal  blood  of  France, 

My  low  and  humble  name  to  propagate  200 

With  any  branch  or  image  of  thy  state ; 

But  such  a  one,  thy  vassal,  whom  I  know 

Is  free  for  me  to  ask,  thee  to  bestow. 

King.  Here  is  my  hand  ;  the  premises  observed, 
Thy  will  by  my  performance  shall  be  served : 
So  make  the  choice  of  thy  own  time :   for  I, 
Thy  resolved  patient,  on  thee  still  rely. 
More  should  I  question  thee,  and  more  I  must, 
Though  more  to  know  could  not  be  more  to  trust. 
From  whence  thou  camest,  how  tended  on :   but  rest 
Unquestion'd  welcome,  and  undoubted  blest.         211 
Give  me  some  help  here,  ho !    If  thou  proceed 
As  high  as  word,  my  deed  shall  match  thy  deed. 

[Flourish.     Exeunt. 

Scene  II. 

Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace. 
Enter  Countess  and  Clown. 

Count.  Come  on,  sir ;  I  shall  now  put  you  to  the 
height  of  your  breeding. 

Clo.  I  will  show  myself  highly  fed  and  lowly  taught : 
I  know  my  business  is  but  to  the  court. 

Count.  To  the  court!  why,  what  place  make  you 
special,  when  you  put  off  that  with  such  con- 
tempt ?     But  to  the  court ! 

Clo.  Truly,  madam,  if  God  have  lent  a  man  any 
manners,  he  may  easily  put  it  off  at  court :  he 
that  cannot  make  a  leg,  put  off  's  cap,  kiss  his     10 

so 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  ii. 

hand,  and  say  nothing,  has  neither  leg,  hands, 
Hp,  nor  cap ;  and,  indeed,  such  a  fellow,  to  say 
precisely,  were  not  for  the  court ;  but  for  me,  I 
have  an  answer  will  serve  all  men. 

Count.  Marry,  that 's  a  bountiful  answer  that  fits  all 
questions. 

Clo.  It  is  like  a  barber's  chair,  that  fits  all  buttocks, 
the  pin-buttock,  the  quatch-buttock,  the  brawn- 
buttock,  or  any  buttock. 

Count.  Will  your  answer  serve  fit  to  all  questions  ?         20 

Clo.  As  fit  as  ten  groats  is  for  the  hand  of  an  attor- 
ney, as  your  French  crown  for  your  taffeta  punk, 
as  Tib's  rush  for  Tom's  forefinger,  as  a  pan- 
cake for  Shrove  Tuesday,  a  morris  for  May-day, 
as  the  nail  to  his  hole,  the  cuckold  to  his  horn,  as 
a  scolding  quean  to  a  wrangling  knave,  as  the 
nun's  lip  to  the  friar's  mouth,  nay,  as  the  pud- 
ding to  his  skin. 

Count.  Have  you,  I  say,  an  answer  of  such  fitness  for 

all  questions?  3^ 

Clo.  From  below  your  duke  to  beneath  your  con- 
stable, it  will  fit  any  question. 

Count.  It  must  be  an  answer  of  most  monstrous  size 
that  must  fit  all  demands. 

Clo.  But  a  trifle  neither,  in  good  faith,  if  the  learned 
should  speak  truth  of  it :  here  it  is,  and  all  that 
belongs  to  't.  Ask  me  if  I  am  a  courtier  :  it  shall 
do  you  no  harm  to  learn. 

Count.  To   be   young   again,    if   we   could:     I    will 

be  a  fool  in  question,  hoping  to  be  the  wiser    40 
by  your  answer,     I  pray  you,   sir,  are  you  a 
courtier  ? 


Act  II.  Sc.  ii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir !  There 's  a  simple  putting  off. 
More,  more,  a  hundred  of  them. 

Count.  Sir,  I  am  a  poor  friend  of  yours,  that  loves 
you. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir !     Thick,  thick,  spare  not  me. 

Count.  I  think,  sir,  you  can  eat  none  of  this  homely 
meat. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir !     Nay,  put  me  to  't,  I  warrant  you.     50 

Count.  You  were  lately  whipped,  sir,  as  I  think. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir !  spare  not  me. 

Count.  Do  you  cry,  'O  Lord,  sir !  '  at  your  whipping, 
and  *  spare  not  me  '  ?  Indeed  your  '  O  Lord, 
sir ! '  is  very  sequent  to  your  whipping :  you 
would  answer  very  well  to  a  whipping,  if  you 
were  but  bound  to 't. 

Clo.  I  ne'er  had  worse  luck  in  my  life  in  my  '  O 
Lord,  sir ! '  I  see  things  may  serve  long,  but  not 
serve  ever.  60 

Count.  I  play  the  noble  housewife  with  the  time, 
To  entertain  't  so  merrily  with  a  fool. 

Clo.  O  Lord,  sir !   why,  there  't  serves  well  again, 

Count.  An  end,  sir;   to  your  business.     Give 
Helen  this, 
And  urge  her  to  a  present  answer  back : 
Commend  me  to  my  kinsmen  and  my  son : 
This  is  not  much. 

Clo.  Not  much  commendation  to  them. 

Count.  Not  much  employment  for  you:  you  under- 
stand me?  70 

Clo.  Most  fruitfully :   I  am  there  before  my  legs. 

Count.  Haste  you  again.  [Exeunt  severally. 


52 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  H.  Sc.  iii. 

Scene  IIL 

Paris.     The  King's  palace. 
Enter  Bertram,  Lafeu,  and  Parolles. 

Laf.  They  say  miracles  are  past;  and  we  have  our 
philosophical  persons,  to  make  modern  and  fa- 
miliar, things  supernatural  and  causeless.  Hence 
is  it  that  we  make  trifles  of  terrors ;  ensconcing 
ourselves  into  seeming  knowledge,  when  we 
should  submit  ourselves  to  an  unknown  fear. 

Par.  Why,  'tis  the  rarest  argument  of  wonder  that 
hath  shot  out  in  our  latter  times. 

Ber.  And  so  'tis. 

Laf.  To  be  relinquished  of  the  artists, —  lo 

Par,  So  I  say ;  both  of  Galen  and  Paracelsus. 

Laf.  Of  all  the  learned  and  authentic  fellows, — 

Par.  Right ;  so  I  say. 

Laf.  That  gave  him  out  incurable, — 

Par.  Why,  there  'tis ;   so  say  I  too. 

Laf.  Not  to  be  helped, — 

Par.  Right ;  as  'twere,  a  man  assured  of  a — 

Laf.  Uncertain  life,  and  sure  death. 

Par.  Just,  you  say  well ;  so  would  I  have  said. 

Laf.  I  may  truly  say,  it  is  a  novelty  to  the  world.  20 

Par.  It  is,  indeed:  if  you  will  have  it  in  showing, 
you  shall  read  it  in — what  do  ye  call  there  ? 

Laf.  A  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an  earthly 
actor. 

Par.  That 's  it ;  I  would  have  said  the  very  same. 

Laf,  Why,  your  dolphin  is  not  lustier:  'fore  me,  I 
speak  in  respect — 

Par,  Nay,  'tis  strange,  'tis  very  strange,  that  is  the 

53 


Act  II.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

brief  and  the  tedious  of  it;    and  he  's  of  a  most 
facinerious  spirit  that  will  not  acknowledge  it  to     30 
be  the — 

Laf.  A'ery  hand  of  heaven. 

Par.  Ay,  so  I  say. 

Laf.  In  a  most  weak — 

Par.  And  debile  minister,  great  power,  great  tran- 
scendence :  which  should,  indeed,  give  us  a 
further  use  to  be  made  than  alone  the  recovery 
of  the  king,  as  to  be — 

Laf.  Generally  thankful. 

Pdr.   I    would   have   said   it :     you    say   v\-eli-     Here     40 
comes  the  king. 

Enter  King,  Helena,  and  Attendants. 

Laf.  Lustig.  as  the  Dutchman  says :  I  '11  like  a  maid 
the  better,  whilst  I  have  a  tooth  in  my  head: 
why,  he  's  able  to  lead  her  a  coranto. 

Par.  Mort  du  vinaigre !  is  not  this  Helen  ? 

Laf.  Tore  God,  I  think  so. 

King.  Go,  call  before  me  all  the  lords  in  court. 
Sit,  my  preserver,  by  thy  patient's  side ; 
And  with  this  healthful  hand,  whose  banish'd  sense. 
Thou  hast  repeal' d,  a  second  time  receive  50 

The  confirmation  of  my  promised  gift, 
Which  but  attends  thy  naming. 

Enter  three  or  four  Lords. 

Fair  maid,  send  forth  thine  eye :  this  youthful  parcel 
Of  noble  bachelors  stand  at  my  bestowing. 
O'er  whom  both  sovereign  power  and  father's  voice 
I  have  to  use :   thy  frank  election  make ; 

54 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  iii. 

Thou  hast  power  to  choose,  and  they  none  to  forsake. 
Hcl.  To  each  of  you  one  fair  and  virtuous  mistress 

Fall,  when  Love  please !   marry,  to  each,  but  one ! 
Laf.  I  Id  give  bay  Curtal  and  his  furniture,  60 

My  mouth  no  more  were  broken  than  these  boys', 

And  writ  as  little  beard. 
King.  Peruse  them  well : 

Xot  one  of  those  but  had  a  noble  father. 
Hcl.  Gentlemen, 

Heaven  hath  through  me  restored  the  king  to  health. 
All.  We  understand  it,  and  thank  heaven  for  you. 
Hcl.  I  am  a  simple  maid  ;  and  therein  wealthiest, 

That  I  protest  I  simply  am  a  maid. 

Please  it  your  majesty,  I  have  done  already: 

The  blushes  in  my  cheeks  thus  whisper  me,  70 

*  We  blush  that  thou  shouldst  choose ;    but,  be  re- 
fused, 

Let  the  white  death  sit  on  thy  cheek  for  ever ; 

We  '11  ne'er  come  there  again.' 
King.  ^lake  choice;    and,  see, 

\\"ho  shuns  thy  love  shuns  all  his  love  in  me. 
Hcl.  Now,  Dian,  from  thy  altar  do  I  fly ; 

And  to  imperial  love,  that  God  most  high. 

Do  my  sighs  stream.     Sir,  will  you  hear  my  suit? 
First  Lord.  And  grant  it. 

Hcl.  Thanks,  sir  ;   all  the  rest  is  mute. 

Laf.  I  had  rather  be  in  this  choice  than  throw  ames- 

ace  for  my  life.  80 

Hcl.  The  honour,  sir,  that  flames  in  your  fair  eyes, 

Before  I  speak,  too  threateningly  replies ; 

Love  make  your  fortunes  twenty  times  above 

Her  that  so  wishes  and  her  humble  love ! 
Sec,  Lord.  Xo  better,  if  you  please. 

55 


Act  II.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Hel.  My  wish  receive, 

Which  great  Love  grant !   and  so,  I  take  my  leave. 
Laf.  Do  all  they  deny  her?     An  they  were  sons  of 

mine,  I  'Id  have  them  whipped  ;  or  I  would  send 

them  to  the  Turk  to  make  eunuchs  of. 
Hel.  Be  not  afraid  that  I  your  hand  should  take  ;  90 

I  '11  never  do  you  wrong  for  your  own  sake : 

Blessing  upon  your  vows !   and  in  your  bed 

Find  fairer  fortune,  if  you  ever  wed ! 
Laf.  These  boys  are  boys  of  ice,  they  '11  none  have 

her :  sure,  they  are  bastards  to  the  English ;  the 

French  ne'er  got  'em. 
Hel.  You  are  too  young,  too  happy,  and  too  good, 

To  make  yourself  a  son  out  of  my  blood. 
Fourth  Lord.  Fair  one,  I  think  not  so. 
Laf.  There  's  one  grape  yet ;    I  am  sure  thy  father  100 

drunk  wine :   but  if  thou  be'st  not  an  ass,  I  am 

a  youth  of  fourteen  ;   I  have  known  thee  already. 
Hel.   [To  Bertram]   I  dare  not  say  I  take  you ;  but  I  give 

Me  and  my  service,  ever  whilst  I  live, 

Into  your  guiding  power.     This  is  the  man. 
King.  Why,  then,  young  Bertram,  take  her ;    she  's  thy 

wife. 
Ber.  My  wife,  my  liege  !     I  shall  beseech  your  highness. 

In  such  a  business  give  me  leave  to  use  109 

The  help  of  mine  own  eyes. 
Kincr.  Know'st  thou  not,  Bertram, 

What  she  has  done  for  me? 
Ber.  Yes,  my  good  lord ; 

But  never  hope  to  know  why  I  should  marry  her. 
King.  Thou  know'st  she  has  raised  me  from  my  sickly 

bed. 
Ber.  But  follows  it,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  down 

56 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  iii. 

Tvlust  answer  for  your  raising  ?  I  know  her  well : 
She  had  her  breeding  at  my  father's  charge. 
A  poor  physician's  daughter  my  wife !     Disdain 
Rather  corrupt  me  ever ! 
King.  'Tis  only  title  thou  disdain'st  in  her,  the  which 

I  can  build  up.     Strange  is  it,  that  our  bloods,      120 

Of  colour,  weight,  and  heat,  pour'd  all  together, 

Would  quite  confound  distinction,  yet  stand  off 

In  differences  so  mighty.     If  she  be 

All  that  is  virtuous,  save  what  thou  dislikest, 

A  poor  physician's  daughter,  thou  dislikest 

Of  virtue  for  the  name :   but  do  not  so : 

From  lowest  place  when  virtuous  things  proceed, 

The  place  is  dignified  by  the  doer's  deed : 

Where  great  additions  swell 's,  and  virtue  none. 

It  is  a  dropsied  honour.     Good  alone  130 

Is  good  without  a  name.     Vileness  is  so : 

The  property  by  what  it  is  should  go, 

Not  by  the  title.     She  is  young,  wise,  fair ; 

In  these  to  nature  she  's  immediate  heir. 

And  these  breed  honour :   that  is  honour's  scorn, 

Which  challenges  itself  as  honour  's  born. 

And  is  not  like  the  sire :   honours  thrive, 

When  rather  from  our  acts  we  them  derive 

Than  our  foregoers :   the  mere  word  's  a  slave 

Debosh'd  on  every  tomb,  on  every  grave  140 

A  lying  trophy ;   and  as  oft  is  dumb 

Where  dust  and  damn'd  oblivion  is  the  tomb 

Of  honour'd  bones  indeed.     What  should  be  said  ? 

If  thou  canst  like  this  creature  as  a  maid, 

I  can  create  the  rest :   virtue  and  she 

Is  her  own  dower ;   honour  and  wealth  from  me. 

57 


Act  II.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Ber.  I  cannot  love  her,  nor  will  strive  to  do  't. 

King.  Thou  wrong'st  thyself,  if  thou  shouldst  strive  to 
choose. 

Hcl.  That  you  are  well  restored,  my  lord,  I  'm  glad : 

Let  the  rest  go.  150 

King.  My  honour  's  at  the  stake ;   which  to  defeat, 
I  must  produce  my  power.     Here,  take  her  hand, 
Proud  scornful  boy,  unworthy  this  good  gift ; 
That  dost  in  vile  misprision  shackle  up 
My  love  and  her  desert ;  that  canst  not  dream, 
We,  poising  us  in  her  defective  scale. 
Shall  weigh  thee  to  the  beam ;  that  wilt  not  know, 
It  is  in  us  to  plant  thine  honour  where 
We  please  to  have  it  grow.     Check  thy  contempt : 
Obey  our  will,  which  travails  in  thy  good:  160 

Believe  not  thy  disdain,  but  presently 
Do  thine  own  fortunes  that  obedient  right 
Which  both  thy  duty  owes  and  our  power  claims ; 
Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever 
Into  the  staggers  and  the  careless  lapse 
Of  youth  and  ignorance;   both  my  revenge  and  hate 
Loosing  upon  thee,  in  the  name  of  justice. 
Without  all  terms  of  pity.     Speak ;   thine  answer. 

Ber.  Pardon,  my  gracious  lord ;  for  I  submit 

My  fancy  to  your  eyes  :  when  I  consider  170 

What  great  creation  and  w^hat  dole  of  honour 
Flies  where  you  bid  it,  I  find  that  she,  which  late 
Was  in  my  nobler  thoughts  most  base,  is  now 
The  praised  of  the  king ;  who,  so  ennobled, 
Is  as  't  were  born  so. 

King.  Take  her  by  the  hand. 

And  tell  her  she  is  thine :  to  whom  I  promise 

58 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  H.  Sc.  iii. 

A  counterpoise  ;  if  not  to  thy  estate, 
A  balance  more  replete. 

Ber.  I  take  her  hand. 

King.  Good  fortune  and  the  favour  of  the  king 

Smile  upon  this  contract ;   whose  ceremony  i8o 

Shall  seem  expedient  on  the  now-born  brief, 
And  be  perform'd  to-night :  the  solemn  feast 
Shall  more  attend  upon  the  coming  space. 
Expecting  absent  friends.     As  thou  lovest  her, 
Thy  love  's  to  me  religious ;   else,  does  err. 

[Exeunt  all  but  Lafeii  and  ParoUes. 

Laf.  Do  you  hear,  monsieur  ?  a  word  with  you. 

Par.  Your  pleasure,  sir  ? 

Laf.  Your  lord  and  master  did  well  to  make  his 
recantation. 

Par.  Recantation  !     My  lord  !    my  master !  190 

Laf.  Ay ;   is  it  not  a  language  I  speak  ? 

Par.  A  most  harsh  one,  and  not  to  be  understood 
without  bloody  succeeding.     My  master ! 

Laf.  Are  you  companion  to  the  Count  Rousillon  ? 

Par.  To  any  count,  to  all  counts,  to  what  is  man. 

Laf.  To  what  is  count's  man :  count's  master  is  of 
another  style. 

Par.  You  are  too  old,  sir ;  let  it  satisfy  you,  you  are 
too  old. 

Laf.  I  must  tell  thee,  sirrah,  I  write  man ;   to  which  200 
title  age  cannot  bring  thee. 

Par.  What  I  dare  too  well  do,  I  dare  not  do. 

Laf.  I  did  think  thee,  for  two  ordinaries,  to  be  a 
pretty  wise  fellow ;  thou  didst  make  tolerable 
vent  of  thy  travel ;  it  might  pass  :  yet  the  scarfs 
and   the   bannerets   about  thee   did   manifoldly 

59 


Act  II.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

dissuade  me  from  believing  thee  a  vessel  of  too 
great  a  burthen.     I  have  now  found  thee ;   when 
I  lose  thee  again,  I  care  not :   yet  art  thou  good 
for  nothing  but  taking  up ;    and  that  thou  'rt  210 
scarce  worth. 

Par.  Hadst  thou  not  the  privilege  of  antiquity  upon 
thee, — 

Laf.  Do  not  plunge  thyself  too  far  in  anger,  lest  thou 
hasten  thy  trial ;  which  if — Lord  have  mercy  on 
thee  for  a  hen  !  So,  my  good  Vv^indow  of  lattice, 
fare  thee  well :  thy  casement  I  need  not  open,  for 
I  look  through  thee.     Give  me  thy  hand. 

Par.  ]\Iy  lord,  you  give  me  most  egregious  indignity. 

Laf.  Ay,  with  all  my  heart;    and  thou  art  worthy  220 
of  it. 

Par.  I  have  not,  my  lord,  deserved  it. 

Laf.  Yes,  good  faith,  every  dram  of  it;  and  I  will 
not  bate  thee  a  scruple. 

Par.  Well,  I  shall  be  wiser. 

Laf.  Ev'n  as  soon  as  thou  canst,  for  thou  hast  to  pull 
at  a  smack  o'  the  contrary.  If  ever  thou  be'st 
bound  in  thy  scarf  and  beaten,  thou  shalt  find 
what  it  is  to  be  proud  of  thy  bondage.  I  have 
a  desire  to  hold  my  acquaintance  with  thee,  or  230 
rather  my  knowledge,  that  I  may  say  in  the  de- 
fault, he  is  a  man  I  know. 

Par.  j\Iy  lord,  you  do  me  most  insupportable  vexa- 
tion. 

Laf.  I  would  it  were  hell-pains  for  thy  sake,  and  my 
poor  doing  eternal :  for  doing  I  am  past ;  as  I 
will  by  thee,  in  what  motion  age  will  give  me 
leave.  [Exit. 

Par.  Well,  thou  hast  a  son  shall  take  this  disgrace 

60 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  H.  Sc.  iii. 

off  me;  scurvy,  old,  filthy,  scurvy  lord!  Well, 
I  must  be  patient;  there  is  no  fettering  of  au-  240 
thority.  I  '11  beat  him,  by  my  life,  if  I  can  meet 
him  with  any  convenience,  an  he  were  double 
and  double  a  lord.  I  '11  have  no  more  pity  of 
his  age  than  I  would  have  of — I  '11  beat  him,  an 
if  I  could  but  meet  him  again. 

Re-enter  Lafeu. 

Laf.  Sirrah,    your     lord     and     master 's     married ; 

there  's  news  for  you  :  you  have  a  new  mistress. 
Par.  I  most  unfeignedly  beseech  your  lordship  to 

make  some  reservation  of  your  wrongs :    he  is 

my   good   lord:    whom   I    serve   above   is   my  250 

master. 
Laf.  Who?     God? 
Par.  Ay,  sir. 

Laf.  The  devil  it  is  that 's  thy  master.  Why  dost 
thou  garter  up  thy  arms  o'  this  fashion?  dost 
make  hose  of  thy  sleeves  ?  do  other  servants  so  ? 
Thou  wert  best  set  thy  lower  part  where  thy 
nose  stands.  By  mine  honour,  if  I  were  but  two 
hours  younger,  I  'Id  beat  thee :  methinks,  thou 
art  a  general  offence,  and  every  man  should  beat  260 
thee:  I  think  thou  wast  created  for  men  to 
breathe  themselves  upon  thee. 

Par.  This  is  hard  and  undeserved  measure,  my  lord. 

Laf.  Go  to,  sir;  you  were  beaten  in  Italy  for  pick- 
ing a  kernel  out  of  a  pomegranate ;  you  are  a 
vagabond,  and  no  true  traveller:  you  are  more 
saucy  with  lords  and  honourable  personages  than 
the  commission  of  your  birth  and  virtue  gives 

61 


Act  IL  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

you  h^eraldry.     You  are  not  worth  another  word, 
else  I  'Id  call  you  knave.     I  leave  you.        [Exit.  270 
Par.  Good,  very  good ;    it  is  so  then :    good,  very 
good ;   let  it  be  concealed  awhile. 

Re-enter  Bertram. 

Ber.  Undone,  and  forfeited  to  cares  for  ever ! 

Par.  What 's  the  matter,  sweet-heart  ? 

Ber,  Although  before  the  solemn  priest  I  have  sworn, 
I  will  not  bed  her. 

Par.  What,  what,  sweet-heart? 

Ber.  O  my  Parolles,  they  have  married  me ! 

I  '11  to  the  Tuscan  wars,  and  never  bed  her. 

Par.  France  is  a  dog-hole,  and  it  no  more  merits         280 
The  tread  of  a  man's  foot :  to  the  wars  ! 

Ber.  There  's  letters  from  my  mother :   what  the  im- 
port is,  I  know  not  yet. 

Par.  Ay,  that  would  be  known.     To  the  wars,  my  boy, 
to  the  wars ! 
He  wears  his  honour  in  a  box  unseen, 
That  hugs  his  kicky-wicky  here  at  home. 
Spending  his  manly  marrow  in  her  arms, 
Which  should  sustain  the  bound  and  high  curvet 
Of  Mars's  fiery  steed.     To  other  regions : 
France  is  a  stable ;  we  that  dwell  in  't  jades ;         290 
Therefore,  to  the  war ! 

Ber.  It  shall  be  so  :  I  '11  send  her  to  my  house. 
Acquaint  my  mother  with  my  hate  to  her. 
And  wherefore  I  am  fled ;  write  to  the  king 
That  which  I  durst  not  speak ;   his  present  gift 
Shall  furnish  me  to  those  Italian  fields. 
Where  noble  fellows  strike :  war  is  no  strife 

62 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  iv. 

To  the  dark  house  and  the  detested  wife. 

Par.  Will  this  capriccio  hold  in  thee,  art  sure  ? 

Ber.  Go  with  me  to  my  chamber,  and  advise  me.         300 
I  '11  send  her  straight  away :  to-morrow 
I  '11  to  the  wars,  she  to  her  single  sorrow. 

Par,  Why,  these  balls  bound ;    there  's  noise  in  it.     'Tis 
hard : 
A  young  man  married  is  a  man  that 's  marr'd : 
Therefore  away,  and  leave  her  bravely;   go: 
The  king  hath  done  you  wrong ;  but,  hush,  'tis  so. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  IV, 

Paris.     The  King's  palace. 
Enter  Helena  and  Clozvn. 

HeL  My  mother  greets  me  kindly :   is  she  well  ? 

Clo.  She  is  not  well;  but  yet  she  has  her  health: 
she  's  very  merry ;  but  yet  she  is  not  well :  but 
thanks  be  given,  she 's  very  well  and  wants 
nothing  i'  the  world ;    but  yet  she  is  not  well. 

HeL  If  she  be  very  well,  what  does  she  ail,  that 
she  's  not  very  well  ? 

Clo.  Truly,  she  's  very  well  indeed,  but  for  two  things. 

HeL  What  two  things  ? 

Clo.  One,  that  she  's  not  in  heaven,  whither  God  send     10 
her  quickly !   the  other,  that  she  's  in  earth,  from 
whence  God  send  her  quickly ! 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Bless  you,  my  fortunate  lady ! 
HeL  I  hope,  sir,  I  have  your  good  will  to  have  mine 
own  good  fortunes. 

63 


Act  II.  Sc.  iv.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Par.  You  had  my  prayers  to  lead  them  on;  and  to 
keep  them  on,  have  them  still.  O,  my  knave, 
how  does  my  old  lady? 

Clo.  So  that  you  had  her  wrinkles,  and  I  her  money, 

I  would  she  did  as  you  say.  20 

Par.  Why,  I  say  nothing. 

Clo.  Marry,  you  are  the  wiser  man;  for  many  a 
man's  tongue  shakes  out  his  master's  undoing: 
to  say  nothing,  to  do  nothing,  to  know  nothing, 
and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  be  a  great  part  of  your 
title ;   which  is  within  a  very  little  of  nothing. 

Par.  Away !   thou  'rt  a  knave. 

Clo.  You  should  have  said,  sir,  before  a  knave 
thou  'rt  a  knave ;  that 's,  before  me  thou  'rt  a 
knave  :   this  had  been  truth,  sir.  30 

Par.  Go  to,  thou  art  a  witty  fool ;   I  have  found  thee. 

Clo.  Did  you  find  me  in  yourself,  sir?  or  were  you 
taught  to  find  me  ?  The  search,  sir,  was  profit- 
able ;  and  much  fool  may  you  find  in  you,  even 
to  the  world's  pleasure  and  the  increase  of 
laughter. 

Par,  A  good  knave,  i'  faith,  and  well  fed. 
Madam,  my  lord  will  go  away  to-night ; 
A  very  serious  business  calls  on  him. 
The  great  prerogative  and  rite  of  love,  40 

Which,  as  your  due,  time  claims,  he  does  acknowl- 
edge ; 
But  puts  it  ofif  to  a  compell'd  restraint ; 
Whose  want,  and  whose  delay,  is  strew'd  with  sweets 
Which  they  distil  now  in  the  curbed  time. 
To  make  the  coming  hour  o'erflow  with  joy. 
And  pleasure  drown  the  brim. 

HeL  What 's  his  will  else  ? 

64 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IL  Sc.  v. 

Par.  That  you  will  take  your  instant  leave  o'  the  king, 
And  make  this  haste  as  your  own  good  proceeding, 
Strengthen'd  with  what  apology  you  think 
May  make  it  probable  need. 

Hel.  What  more  commands  he?  50 

Par.  That,  having  this  obtain'd,  you  presently 
Attend  his  further  pleasure. 

Hel.  In  every  thing  I  wait  upon  his  will. 

Par.  I  shall  report  it  so. 

Hel.  I  pray  you.     [Exit  Parolles.]     Come,  sirrah. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  V. 

Paris.     The  King's  palace. 
Enter  Lafeu  and  Bertram. 

Laf.  But  I  hope  your  lordship  thinks  not  him  a  soldier. 

Ber.  Yes,  my  lord,  and  of  very  valiant  approof. 

Laf.  You  have  it  from  his  own  deliverance. 

Ber.  And  by  other  warranted  testimony. 

Laf.  Then  my  dial  goes  not  true  :  I  took  this  lark  for 
a  bunting. 

Ber.  I  do  assure  you,  my  lord,  he  is  very  great  in 
knowledge,  and  accordingly  valiant. 

Laf.  I  have  then  sinned  against  his  experience  and 

transgressed  against  his  valour;    and  my  state     10 
that  way  is  dangerous,  since  I  cannot  yet  find 
in  my  heart  to  repent.     Here  he  comes :    I  pray 
you,  make  us  friends  ;  I  will  pursue  the  amity. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  These  things  shall  be  done,  sir.  [To  Bertram. 

65 


Actll.  Sc.  V.  ALL'S  WELL 

Laf.  Pray  you,  sir,  who  's  his  tailor  ? 

Par.  Sir? 

Laf.  O,  I  know  him  well,  I,  sir ;  he,  sir,  's  a  good 
workman,  a  very  good  tailor. 

Ber.  Is  she  gone  to  the  king  ?  [Aside  to  Parolles.  20 

Par.  She  is. 

Ber.  Will  she  away  to-night  ? 

Par.  As  you  '11  have  her. 

Ber.  I  have  writ  my  letters,  casketed  my  treasure, 
Given  order  for  our  horses ;   and  to-night, 
When  I  should  take  possession  of  the  bride, 
End  ere  I  do  begin. 

Laf.  A  good  traveller  is  something  at  the  latter  end 
of  a  dinner;    but  one  that  lies  three  thirds,  and 
uses  a  known  truth  to  pass  a  thousand  nothings     30 
with,  should  be  once  heard,  and  thrice  beaten. 
God  save  you,  captain. 

Ber.  Is  there  any  unkindness  between  my  lord  and, 
you,  monsieur? 

Par.  I  know  not  how  I  have  deserved  to  run  into 
my  lord's  displeasure. 

Laf.  You  have  made  shift  to  run  into  't,  boots  and 
spurs  and  all,  like  him  that  leaped  into  the  cus- 
tard ;  and  out  of  it  you  '11  run  again,  rather  than 
suffer  question  for  your  residence.  40 

Ber.  It  may  be  you  have  mistaken  him,  my  lord. 
Laf.  And  shall  do  so  ever,  though  I  took  him  at 's 
prayers.  Fare  you  well,  my  lord;  and  believe 
this  of  me,  there  can  be  no  kernel  in  this  light 
nut ;  the  soul  of  this  man  is  his  clothes.  Trust 
him  not  in  matter  of  heavy  consequence ;  I  have 
kept   of   them   tame,   and   know   their  natures. 

66 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  H.  Sc.  v. 

Farewell,  monsieur :  I  have  spoken  better  of  you 

than  you  have  or  will  to  deserve  at  my  hand ; 

but  we  must  do  good  against  evil,  [Exit.  50 

Par.  An  idle  lord,  I  swear. 
Ber.  I  think  so. 

Par,  Why,  do  you  not  know  him? 
Ber.  Yes,  I  do  know  him  well,  and  common  speech 

Gives  him  a  worthy  pass.     Here  comes  my  clog. 

Enter  Helena. 

Hel.  I  have,  sir,  as  I  was  commanded  from  you, 

Spoke  with  the  king,  and  have  procured  his  leave 
For  present  parting ;   only  he  desires 
Some  private  speech  with  you. 

Ber.  I  shall  obey  his  will. 

You  must  not  marvel,  Helen,  at  my  course,  60 

Which  holds  not  colour  with  the  time,  nor  does 
The  ministration  and  required  office 
On  my  particular.     Prepared  I  was  not 
For  such  a  business ;   therefore  am  I  found 
So  much  unsettled :  this  drives  me  to  entreat  you, 
That  presently  you  take  your  way  for  home. 
And  rather  muse  than  ask  why  I  entreat  you ; 
For  my  respects  are  better  than  they  seem, 
And  my  appointments  have  in  them  a  need 
Greater  than  shows  itself  at  the  first  view  70 

To  you  that  know  them  not.     This  to  my  mother 

[Giving  a  letter. 
'Twill  be  two  days  ere  I  shall  see  you ;  so, 
I  leave  you  to  your  wisdom. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say, 

But  that  I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 
(^7 


Act  11.  Sc.  V.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Ber.  Come,  come,  no  more  of  that. 

Hel.  And  ever  shall 

With  true  observance  seek  to  eke  out  that 

Wherein  toward  me  my  homely  stars  have  fail'd 

To  equal  my  great  fortune. 
Ber.  Let  that  go : 

My  haste  is  very  great :    farewell ;   hie  home. 
Hel.  Pray,  sir,  your  pardon. 

Ber.  Well,  what  would  you  say?     80 

Hel.  I  am  not  worthy  of  the  wealth  I  owe ; 

Nor  dare  I  say  'tis  mine,  and  yet  it  is  ; 

But,  like  a  timorous  thief,  most  fain  would  steal 

What  law  does  vouch  mine  own. 
Ber.  What  would  you  have? 

Hel.  Something ;   and  scarce  so  much :   nothing  indeed. 

I  would  not  tell  you  what  I  would,  my  lord:   faith 
yes; 

Strangers  and  foes  do  sunder,  and  not  kiss. 
Ber.  I  pray  you,  stay  not,  but  in  haste  to  horse. 
Hel.  I  shall  not  break  your  bidding,  good  my  lord.      90 
Ber,  Where  are  my  other  men,  monsieur  ?  Farewell ! 

[Exit  Helena. 

Go  thou  toward  home ;   where  I  will  never  come, 

Whilst  I  can  shake  my  sword,  or  hear  the  drum. 

Away,  and  for  our  flight. 
Par.  Bravely,  coragio!     [Exeunt. 


J 


68 


i 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IH.  Sc.  i. 

ACT  THIRD. 
Scene  L 

Florence.     The  Duke's  palace. 

Flourish.     Entp-  the  Duke  of  Florence,  attended;  the  two 
Frenchmen  zvith  a  troop  of  soldiers. 

Duke.  So  that  from  point  to  point  now  have  you  heard 
The  fundamental  reasons  of  this  war, 
Whose  great  decision  hath  much  blood  let  forth 
And  more  thirsts  after. 

First  Lord.  Holy  seems  the  quarrel 

Upon  your  Grace's  part ;   black  and  fearful 
On  the  opposer. 

Duke.  Therefore  we  marvel  much  our  cousin  France 
Would  in  so  just  a  business  shut  his  bosom 
Against  our  borrowing  prayers. 

Sec.  Lord.  Good  my  lord, 

The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  yield,  lo 

But  like  a  common  and  an  outward  man. 

That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 

By  self-unable  motion :  therefore  dare  not 

Say  what  I  think  of  it,  since  I  have  found 

Myself  in  my  incertain  grounds  to  fail 

As  often  as  I  guess'd. 

Duke.  Be  it  his  pleasure. 

First  Lord.  But  I  am  sure  the  younger  of  our  nature, 
That  surfeit  on  their  ease,  will  day  by  day 
Come  here  for  physic. 

Duke.  Welcome  shall  they  be ; 

And  all  the  honours  that  can  fly  from  us  20 

Shall  on  them  settle.     You  know  your  places  well ; 
69 


Act  III.  Sc.  ii.  ALL  *S  WELL 

When  better  fall,  for  your  avails  they  fell : 
To-morrow  to  the  field.  [Flourish.     Exeunt, 

Scene  IL 

Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace. 
Enter  Countess  and  Clozvn. 

Count.  It  hath  happened  all  as  I  would  have  had  it, 
save  that  he  comes  not  along  with  her. 

Clo.  By  my  troth,  I  take  my  young  lord  to  be  a  very 
melancholy  man. 

Count.  By  what  observance,  I  pray  you  ? 

Clo.  Why,  he  will  look  upon  his  boot  and  sing; 
mend  the  ruff  and  sing ;  ask  questions  and  sing ; 
pick  his  teeth  and  sing.  I  know  a  man  that 
had  this  trick  of  melancholy  sold  a  goodly  manor 
for  a  song.  lO 

Count.  Let  me  see  what  he  writes,   and  when  he 

means  to  come.  [Opening  a  letter. 

Clo.  I  have  no  mind  to  Isbel  since  I  was  at  court :  our 
old  ling  and  our  Isbels  o'  the  country  are  nothing 
like  your  old  ling  and  your  Isbels  o'  the  court: 
the  brains  of  my  Cupid  's  knocked  out,  and  I 
begin  to  love,  as  an  old  man  loves  money,  with 
no  stomach. 

Count.  What  have  we  here? 

Clo.  E'en  that  you  have  there.  [Exit.     20 

Count,  [reads]  I  have  sent  you  a  daughter-in-law: 
she  hath  recovered  the  king,  and  undone  me. 
I  have  wedded  her, not  bedded  her;  and  sworn 
to  make  the  '  not '  eternal.  You  shall  hear  I 
am  run  away:   know  it  before  the  report  come. 

70 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  ii. 

If  there  be  breadth  enough  in  the  world,  I  will 
hold  a  long  distance.     My  duty  to  you. 

Your  unfortunate  son, 
Bertram. 
This  is  not  well,  rash  and  unbridled  boy,  30 

To  fly  the  favours  of  so  good  a  king ; 
To  pluck  his  indignation  on  thy  head 
By  the  misprising  of  a  maid  too  virtuous 
For  the  contempt  of  empire. 

Re-enter  Clozvn. 

do.  O  madam,  yonder  is  heavy  news  within  between 

two  soldiers  and  my  young  lady ! 
Count.  What  is  the  matter? 
Clo.  Nay,  there  is  some  comfort  in  the  news,  some 

comfort ;  your  son  will  not  be  killed  so  soon  as  I 

thought  he  would.  40 

Count.  Why  should  he  be  killed? 
Clo.  So  say  I,  madam,  if  he  run  away,  as  I  hear  he 

does  :  the  danger  is  in  standing  to  't ;   that 's  the 

loss  of  men,  though  it  be  the  getting  of  children. 

Here  they  come  will  tell  you  more :   for  my  part, 

I  only  hear  your  son  was  run  away. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Helena  and  tzvo  Gentlemen. 

First  Gent.  Save  you,  good  madam. 

Hel.  Madam,  my  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone. 

Sec.  Gent.  Do  not  say  so. 

Count.  Think  upon  patience.     Pray  you,  gentlemen,     50 
I  have  felt  so  many  quirks  of  joy  and  grief, 
That  the  first  face  of  neither,  on  the  start. 
Can  woman  me  unto  't :  where  is  my  son,  I  pray  you  ? 

71 


Act  III.  Sc.  ii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Sec.  Gent.  Madam,  he's  gone  to  serve  the  Duke  of  Florence : 
We  met  him  thitherward ;  from  thence  we  came, 
And,  after  some  dispatch  in  hand  at  court, 
Thither  we  bend  again. 

Hel.  Look  on  his  letter,  madam  ;  here  's  my  passport. 
[reads']  When  thou  canst  get  the  ring  upon  my 
finger  which  never  shall  come  off,  and  show  me  60 
a  child  begotten  of  thy  body  that  I  am  father  to, 
then  call  me  husband :  but  in  such  a  '  then '  I 
write  a  '  never.' 
This  is  a  dreadful  sentence. 

Count.  Brought  you  this  letter,  gentlemen? 

First  Gent.  Ay,  madam  ; 

And  for  the  contents'  sake  are  sorry  for  our  pains. 

Count.  I  prithee,  lady,  have  a  better  cheer ; 
If  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine. 
Thou  robb'st  me  of  a  moiety :  he  was  my  son ; 
But  I  do  wash  his  name  out  of  my  blood,  70 

And  thou  art  all  my  child.     Towards  Florence  is  he  ? 

Sec.  Gent.  Ay,  madam. 

Count.  And  to  be  a  soldier? 

Sec.  Gent.  Such  is  his  noble  purpose ;  and,  believe  't, 
The  Duke  will  lay  upon  him  all  the  honour 
That  good  convenience  claims. 

Count.  Return  you  thither  ? 

First  Gent.  Ay,  madam,  with  the  swiftest  wing  of  speed. 

Hel.   {reads']   Till   I   have   no   wife,    I   have  nothing   in 
France. 
Tis  bitter. 

Count.  Find  you  that  there  ? 

Hel.  Ay,  madam. 

First  Gent.  'Tis  but  the  boldness  of  his  hand,  haply 

which  his  heart  was  not  consenting  to.  80 

72 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  ii. 

Count.  Nothing  in  France,  until  he  have  no  wife ! 

There  's  nothing  here  that  is  too  good  for  him 

But  only  she ;  and  she  deserves  a  lord 

That  twenty  such  rude  boys  might  tend  upon 

And  call  her  hourly  mistress.     Who  was  with  him  ? 
First  Gent.  A  servant   only,  and  a  gentleman 

Which  I  have  sometime  known. 
Count.  Parolles,  was  it  not  ? 

First  Gent.  Ay,  my  good  lady,  he. 
Count,  A  very  tainted  fellow,  and  full  of  wickedness. 

My  son  corrupts  a  well-derived  nature  90 

With  his  inducement. 
First  Gent.  Indeed,  good  lady, 

The  fellow  has  a  deal  of  that  too  much, 

Which  holds  him  much  to  have. 
Count.  Y'  are  welcome,  gentlemen. 

I  will  entreat  you,  when  you  see  my  son, 

To  tell  him  that  his  sword  can  never  win 

The  honour  that  he  loses  :  more  I-  '11  entreat  you 

Written  to  bear  along. 
Sec.  Gent.  We  serve  you,  madam, 

In  that  and  all  your  worthiest  affairs. 
Count.  Not  so,  but  asnve  change  our  courtesies.  100 

Will  you  draw  near  ? 

[Exeu7it  Countess  and  Gentlemen. 
Hel.  '  Till  I  have  no  wife,  I  have  nothing  in  France.' 

Nothing  in  France,  until  he  has  no  wife ! 

Thou  shalt  have  none,  Rousillon,  none  in  France  ; 

Then  hast  thou  all  again.     Poor  lord !     is  't  I 

That  chase  thee  from  thy  country  and  expose 

Those  tender  limbs  of  thine  to  the  event 

Of  the  none-sparing  war  ?  and  is  it  I 

73 


Act  III.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

That  drive  thee  from  the  sportive  court,  where  thou 

Wast  shot  at  with  fair  eyes,  to  be  the  mark  no 

Of  smoky  muskets  ?     O  you  leaden  messengers, 

That  ride  upon  the  violent  speed  of  fire, 

Fly  with  false  aim ;  move  the  still-peering  air, 

That  sings  with  piercing ;  do  not  touch  my  lord. 

Whoever  shoots  at  him,  I  set  him  there ; 

Whoever  charges  on  his  forward  breast, 

I  am  the  caitiff  that  do  hold  him  to  't ; 

And,  though  I  kill  him  not,  I  am  the  cause 

His  death  was  so  effected :  better  'twere 

I  met  the  ravin  lion  when  he  roar'd  120 

With  sharp  constraint  of  hunger ;   better  'twere 

That  all  the  miseries  which  nature  owes 

Were  mine  at  once.     No,  come  thou  home,  Rousillon, 

Whence  honour  but  of  danger  wins  a  scar, 

As  oft  it  loses  all :   I  will  be  gone ; 

My  being  here  it  is  that  holds  thee  hence : 

Shall  I  stay  here  to  do  't  ?  no,  no,  although 

The  air  of  paradise  did  fan  the  house. 

And  angels  officed  all :   I  will  be  gone. 

That  pitiful  rumour  may  report  my  flight,  130 

To  consolate  thine  ear.     Come,  night ;  end,  day ! 

For  with  the  dark,  poor  thief,  I/ll  steal  away.     [Exit, 

Scene  IIL 

Florence.     Before  the  Duke's  palace. 

Flourish.     Enter  the  Duke  of  Florence,  Bertram, 
Parolles,  Soldiers,  Drum,  and  Trumpets. 

Duke.  The  general  of  our  horse  thou  art ;  and  we, 
Great  in  our  hope,  lay  our  best  love  and  credence 

74 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  iv. 

Upon  thy  promising  fortune. 
Ber.  Sir,  it  is 

A  charge  too  heavy  for  my  strength ;  but  yet 

We  '11  strive  to  bear  it  for  your  worthy  sake 

To  the  extreme  edge  of  hazard. 
Duke.  Then  go  thou  forth ; 

And  fortune  play  upon  thy  prosperous  helm, 

As  thy  auspicious  mistress ! 
Ber.  This  very  day, 

Great  Mars,  I  put  myself  into  thy  file : 

Make  me  but  like  my  thoughts,  and  I  shall  prove    lO 

A  lover  of  thy  drum,  hater  of  love.  {Exeunt 

Scene  IV. 

Rousillon.     The  Coimfs  palace. 

Enter  Countess  and  Steward. 

Count.  Alas !   and  would  you  take  the  letter  of  her  ? 
Might  you  not  know  she  would  do  as  she  has  done, 
By  sending  me  a  letter?     Read  it  again. 
Stew,   [reads]   I  am  Saint  Jaques'  pilgrim,  thither  gone : 

Ambitious  love  hath  so  in  me  offended. 
That  barefoot  plod  I  the  cold  ground  upon. 

With  sainted  vow  my  faults  to  have  amended. 
Write,  write,  that  from  the  bloody  course  of  war 

My  dearest  master,  your  dear  son,  may  hie : 
Bless  him  at  home  in  peace,  whilst  I  from  far         lo 

His  name  with  zealous  fervour  sanctify : 
His  taken  labours  bid  him  me  forgive ; 

I,  his  despiteful  Juno,  sent  him  forth 
From  courtly  friends  with  camping  foes  to  live. 

Where  death  and  danger  dogs  the  heels  of  worth : 

7S 


Act  III.  Sc.  iv.  ALL  *S  WELL 

He  is  too  good  and  fair  for  death  and  me ; 
Whom  I  myself  embrace  to  set  him  free. 

Count.  Ah,  what  sharp  stings  are  in  her  mildest  words ! 
Rinaldo,  you  did  never  lack  advice  so  much, 
As  letting  her  pass  so :  had  I  spoke  with  her,  20 

I  could  have  well  diverted  her  intents, 
Which  thus  she  hath  prevented. 

Stew.  Pardon  me,  madam*. 

If  I  had  given  you  this  at  over-night, 
She  might  have  been  o'erta'en  ;  and  yet  she  writes, 
Pursuit  would  be  but  vain. 

Count.  What  angel  shall 

Bless  this  unworthy  husband?   he  cannot  thrive, 

Unless  her  prayers,  whom  heaven  delights  to  hear 

And  loves  to  grant,  reprieve  him  from  the  wrath 

Of  greatest  justice.     Write,  write,  Rinaldo, 

To  this  unworthy  husband  of  his  wife ;  30 

Let  every  word  weigh  heavy  of  her  worth 

That  he  does  weigh  too  light :  my  greatest  grief, 

Though  little  he  do  feel  it,  set  down  sharply. 

Dispatch  the  most  convenient  messenger: 

When  haply  he  shall  hear  that  she  is  gone, 

He  will  return ;   and  hope  I  may  that  she. 

Hearing  so  much,  will  speed  her  foot  again. 

Led  hither  by  pure  love :  which  of  them  both 

Is  dearest  to  me,  I  have  no  skill  in  sense 

To  make  distinction  :   provide  this  messenger :        40 

My  heart  is  heavy  and  mine  age  is  weak ; 

Grief  would  have  tears,  and  sorrow  bids  me  speak. 

[Exeunt, 


76 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  v. 

Scene  V. 

Florence.     Without  the  zualls.     A  tucket  afar  off. 

Enter  an  old  zvidozv  of  Florence,  Diana,  Violenta,  and 
Mariana,  with  other  Citizens. 

Wid.  Nay,  come;  for  if  they  do  approach  the  city, 
we  shall  lose  all  the  sight. 

Dia.  They  say  the  French  count  has  done  most  hon- 
ourable service. 

Wid.  It  is  reported  that  he  has  taken  their  greatest 
commander ;  and  that  with  his  own  hand  he  slew 
the  Duke's  brother.  [Tucket.']  We  have  lost 
our  labour ;  they  are  gone  a  contrary  way : 
hark !  you  may  know  by  their  trumpets. 

Mar.  Come,  let 's  return  again,  and  suffice  ourselves     lo 
with  the  report  of  it.     Well,  Diana,  take  heed  of 
this  French  earl :    the  honour  of  a  maid  is  her 
name ;  and  no  legacy  is  so  rich  as  honesty. 

Wid.  I  have  told  my  neighbour  how  you  have  been 
solicited  by  a  gentleman  his  companion. 

Mar.  I  know  that  knave ;  hang  him !  one  Parolles : 
a  filthy  officer  he  is  in  those  suggestions  for  the 
young  earl.  Beware  of  them,  Diana;  their 
promises,  enticements,  oaths,  tokens,  and  all 
these  engines  of  lust,  are  not  the  things  they  go  20 
under:  many  a  maid  hath  been  seduced  by 
them  ;  and  the  misery  is,  example,  that  so  terrible 
shows  in  the  wreck  of  maidenhood,  cannot  for 
all  that  dissuade  succession,  but  that  they  are 
limed  with  the  twigs  that  threaten  them.  I 
hope  I  need  not  to  advise  you  further;  but  I 
hope  your  own  grace  will  keep  you  where  you 

77 


Act  III.  Sc.  V.  ALL 'S  WELL 

are,  though  there  were  no  further  danger  known 

but  the  modesty  which  is  so  lost. 
Dia.  You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me.  30 

Wid.  I  hope  so. 

Enter  Helena,  disguised  like  a  pilgrim. 

Look,  here  comes  a  pilgrim :   I  know  she  will  lie 

at  my  house ;  thither  they  send  one  another :  I  '11 

question  her.     God  save  you,  pilgrim!    whither 

are  you  bound  ? 
HeL  To  Saint  Jaques  le  Grand. 

Where  do  the  palmers  lodge,  I  do  beseech  you  ? 
Wid.  At  the  Saint  Francis  here  beside  the  port. 
Hel.  Is  this  the  way? 

Wid.  Ay,    marry,    is 't.      [A    march   afar.]     Hark   you! 
they  come  this  way.  40 

If  you  will  tarry,  holy  pilgrim, 

But  till  the  troops  come  by, 

I  will  conduct  you  where  you  shall  be  lodged ; 

The  rather,  for  I  think  I  know  your  hostess 

As  ample  as  myself. 
Hel.  Is  it  yourself? 

Wid.  If  you  shall  please  so,  pilgrim. 
Hel.  I  thank  you,  and  will  stay  upon  your  leisure. 
Wid.  You  came,  I  think,  from  France  ? 
HeL  I  did  so. 

Wid.  Here  you  shall  see  a  countryman  of  yours 

That  has  done  worthy  service. 
Hel.  His  name,  I  pray  you  ? 

Dia.  The  Count  Rousillon  :  know  you  such  a  one?         51 
Hel.  But  by  the  ear,  that  hears  most  nobly  of  him : 

His  face  I  know  not. 

78 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  v. 

Dia.  Whatsome'er  he  is, 

He  's  bravely  taken  here.     He  stole  from  France, 

As  'tis  reported,  for  the  king  had  married  him 

Against  his  liking:   think  you  it  is  so? 
Hel.  Ay,  surely,  mere  the  truth :   I  know  his  lady. 
Dia.  There  is  a  gentleman  that  serves  the  count 

Reports  but  coarsely  of  her. 
Hel.  What 's  his  name  ? 

Dia.  Monsieur  Parolles. 
Hel.  O,  I  believe  with  him,  60 

In  argument  of  praise,  or  to  the  worth 

Of  the  great  count  himself,  she  is  too  mean 

To  have  her  name  repeated :   all  her  deserving 

Is  a  reserved  honesty,  and  that 

I  have  not  heard  examined. 
Dia.  Alas,  poor  lady ! 

'Tis  a  hard  bondage  to  become  the  wife 

Of  a  detesting  lord. 
Wid.  I  write  good  creature,  wheresoe'er  she  is. 

Her  heart  weighs  sadly :   this  young  maid  might  do 
her 

A  shrewd  turn,  if  she  pleased. 
Hel.  How  do  you  mean  ?  70 

May  be  the  amorous  count  solicits  her 

In  the  unlawful  purpose. 
Wid.  He  does  indeed ; 

And  brokes  with  all  that  can  in  such  a  suit 

Corrupt  the  tender  honour  of  a  maid : 

But  she  is  arm'd  for  him,  and  keeps  her  guard 

In  honestest  defence. 
Mar.  The  gods  forbid  else ! 

Wid.  So,  now  they  come : 

79 


Act  III.  Sc.  V.  ALL  *S  WELL 

Drum  and  Colours. 

Enter  Bertram,  Parolles,  and  the  whole  army. 

That  is  Antonio,  the  Duke's  eldest  son ; 
That,  Escalus. 

Hel.  Which  is  the  Frenchman  ? 

Dia.  He ; 

That  with  the  plume  :  'tis  a  most  gallant  fellow.       80 
I  would  he  loved  his  wife :   if  he  were  honester 
He  were  much  goodlier :    is  't  not  a  handsome  gen- 
tleman ? 

HeL  I  like  him  well. 

Dia,  'Tis  pity  he  is  not  honest :  yond  's  that  same  knave 
That  leads  him  to  these  places  :  were  I  his  lady, 
I  would  poison  that  vile  rascal. 

Hel  Which  is  he? 

Dia.  That  jack-an-apes  with  scarfs :    why  is  he  melan- 
choly ? 

Hel.  Perchance  he  's  hurt  i'  the  battle. 

Par.  Lose  our  drum  !   well.  90 

Mar.  He's  shrewdly  vexed  at  something:    look,  he 
has  spied  us. 

Wid.  Marry,  hang  you ! 

Mar.  And  your  courtesy,  for  a  ring-carrier! 

[Exeunt  Bertram,  Parolles,  and  army. 

Wid,  The  troop  is   past.     Come,   pilgrim,   I   will  bring 
you 
Where  you  shall  host :  of  enjoin'd  penitents 
There  's  four  or  five,  to  great  Saint  Jaques  bound, 
Already  at  my  house. 

Hel.  I  humbly  thank  you : 

Please  it  this  matron  and  this  gentle  maid 
80 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  vi. 

To  eat  with  us  to-night,  the  charge  and  thanking  lOO 
Shall  be  for  me ;  and,  to  requite  you  further, 
I  will  bestow  some  precepts  of  this  virgin 
Worthy  the  note. 
Both.  We  '11  take  your  offer  kindly. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene  VL 

Camp  before  Florence. 
Enter  Bertram  and  the  two  French  Lords. 

Sec.  Lord.  Nay,  good  my  lord,  put  him  to  't ;  let  him 

have  his  way. 
First  Lord.  If  your  lordship  find  him  not  a  hilding, 

hold  me  no  more  in  your  respect. 
Sec.  Lord.  On  my  life,  my  lord,  a  bubble. 
Ber.  Do  you  think  I  am  so  far  deceived  in  him  ? 
Sec.  Lord.  Believe  it,  my  lord,  in  mine  own  direct 

knowledge,  without  any  malice,  but  to  speak  of 

him  as  my  kinsman,  he  's  a  most  notable  coward, 

an  infinite  and  endless  liar,  an  hourly  promise-     lo 

breaker,    the    owner    of   no    one    good    quality 

worthy  your  lordship's  entertainment. 
First  Lord.  It  were  fit  you  knew  him ;  lest,  reposing 

too  far  in  his  virtue,  which  he  hath  not,  he  might 

at  some  great  and  trusty  business   in  a  main 

danger  fail  you. 
Ber.  I  would  I  knew  in  what  particular  action  to  try 

him. 
First  Lord.  None  better  than  to  let  him  fetch  off  his 

drum,  which  you  hear  him  so  confidently  under-     20 

take  to  do. 

81 


Act  III.  Sc.  vi.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Sec.  Lord.  I,  with  a  troop  of  Florentines,  will  sud- 
denly surprise  him ;  such  I  will  have,  whom  I 
am  sure  he  knows  not  from  the  enemy :  we  will 
bind  and  hoodwink  him  so,  that  he  shall  suppose 
no  other  but  that  he  is  carried  into  the  leaguer  of 
the  adversaries,  when  we  bring  him  to  our  own 
tents.  Be  but  your  lordship  present  at  his  ex- 
amination: if  he  do  not,  for  the  promise  of 
his  life  and  in  the  highest  compulsion  of  base  30 
fear,  offer  to  betray  you  and  deliver  all  the  intel- 
ligence in  his  power  against  you,  and  that  with 
the  divine  forfeit  of  his  soul  upon  oath,  never 
trust  my  judgement  in  any  thing. 

First  Lord.  O,  for  the  love  of  laughter,  let  him  fetch 
his  drum ;  he  says  he  has  a  stratagem  for  't : 
when  your  lordship  sees  the  bottom  of  his  suc- 
cess in  't,  and  to  what  metal  this  counterfeit  lump 
of  ore  will  be  melted,  if  you  give  him  not  John 
Drum's  entertainment,  your  inclining  cannot  be  40 
removed.     Here  he  comes. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Sec.  Lord.  [Aside  to  Ber.]  O,  for  the  love  of  laugh- 
ter, hinder  not  the  honour  of  his  design  :  let  him 
fetch  off  his  drum  in  any  hand. 

Ber.  How  now,  monsieur !  this  drum  sticks  sorely  in 
your  disposition. 

First  Lord.  A  pox  on  't,  let  it  go ;   'tis  but  a  drum. 

Par.  '  But  a  drum  ' !    is  't  '  but  a  drum  '  ?     A  drum 
so    lost!     There  was    excellent    command, — to 
charge  in  with  our  horse  upon  our  own  wings,     50 
and  to  rend  our  own  soldiers  ! 

First  Lord.  That  was  not  to  be  blamed  in  the  com- 

82 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IH.  Sc.  vi. 

mand  of  the  service:  it  was  a  disaster  of  war 
that  Caesar  himself  could  not  have  prevented,  if 
he  had  been  there  to  command. 

Ber.  Well,  we  cannot  greatly  condemn  our  success: 
some  dishonour  we  had  in  the  loss  of  that  drum ; 
but  it  is  not  to  be  recovered. 

Par.  It  might  have  been  recovered. 

Ber.  It  might ;  but  it  is  not  now.  60 

Par.  It  is  to  be  recovered :  but  that  the  merit  of  ser- 
vice is  seldom  attributed  to  the  true  and  exact 
performer,  I  would  have  that  drum  or  another, 
or  '  hie  jacet.' 

Ber.  Why,  if  you  have  a  stomach,  to  't,  monsieur :  if . 
you  think  your  mystery  in  stratagem  can  bring 
this  instrument  of  honour  again  into  his  native 
quarter,  be  magnanimous  in  the  enterprise  and 
go  on;  I  will  grace  the  attempt  for  a  worthy 
exploit:  if  you  speed  well  in  it,  the  Duke  shall  70 
both  speak  of  it,  and  extend  to  you  what  further 
becomes  his  greatness,  even  to  the  utmost  syllable 
of  your  worthiness. 

Par.  By  the  hand  of  a  soldier,  I  will  undertake  it. 

Ber.  But  you  must  not  now  slumber  in  it. 

Par.  I'll  about  it  this  evening:  and  I  will  presently 
pen  down  my  dilemmas,  encourage  myself  in 
my  certainty,  put  myself  into  my  mortal  prep- 
aration ;  and  bj  midnight  look  to  hear  further 
from  me.  80 

Ber.  May  I  be  bold  to  acquaint  his  Grace  you  are 
gone  about  it  ? 

Par.  I  know  not  what  the  success  will  be,  my  lord; 
but  the  attempt  I  vow. 

83 


Act  III.  Sc.  vi.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Ber.  I  know  thou  'rt  valiant ;  and,  to  the  possibiHty 
of  thy  soldiership,  will  subscribe  for  thee.  Fare- 
well. 

Par.  I  love  not  many  words.  {Exit. 

Sec.  Lord.  No  more  than  a  fish  loves  water.     Is  not 
this  a  strange  fellow,  my  lord,  that  so  confidently 
seems    to    undertake    this    business,    which    he     90 
knows  is  not  to  be  done;   damns  himself  to  do, 
and  dares  better  be  damned  than  to  do  't  ? 

First  Lord.  You  do  not  know  him,  my  lord,  as  we 
do:  certain  it  is,  that  he  will  steal  himself  into 
a  man's  favour  and  for  a  week  escape  a  great 
deal  of  discoveries ;  but  when  you  find  him  out, 
you  have  him  ever  after. 

Ber.  Why,  do  you  think  he  will  make  no  deed  at  all 
of  this  that  so  seriously  he  does  address  himself 
unto  ?  100 

Sec.  Lord.  None  in  the  world ;  but  return  with  an 
invention,  and  clap  upon  you  two  or  three  prob- 
able lies :  but  we  have  almost  embossed  him ; 
you  shall  see  his  fall  to-night ;  for  indeed  he  is 
not  for  your  lordship's  respect. 

First  Lord.  We  '11  make  you  some  sport  with  the  fox 
ere  we  case  him.  He  was  first  smoked  by  the 
old  lord  Lafeu :  when  his  disguise  and  he  is 
parted,  tell  me  what  a  sprat  you  shall  find  him  ; 
which  you  shall  see  this  very  night.  no 

Sec.  Lord.  I  must  go  look  my  twigs ;  he  shall  be  caught. 

Ber.  Your  brother  he  shall  go  along  with  me. 

Sec.  Lord.  As  't  please  your  lordship :  I  '11  leave  you. 

[Exit. 

Ber.  Now  will  I  lead  you  to  the  house,  and  show  you 
The  lass  I  spoke  of. 

S4 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IIL  Sc.  vii. 

First  Lord.  But  you  say  she  's  honest. 

Ber.  That 's  all  the  fault :   I  spoke  with  her  but  once 
And  found  her  wondrous  cold  ;  but  I  sent  to  her, 
By  this  same  coxcomb  that  we  have  i'  the  wind, 
Tokens  and  letters  which  she  did  re-send ; 
And  this  is  all  I  have  done.  She 's  a  fair  creature.   120 
Will  you  go  see  her  ? 

First  Lord.  With  all  my  heart,  my  lord. 

[Exeimt. 

Scene  VIL 

Florence.     The  Widow's  house. 
Enter  Helena  and  Widow. 

Hel.  If  you  misdoubt  me  that  I  am  not  she, 

I  know  not  how  I  shall  assure  you  further, 
But  I  shall  lose  the  grounds  I  work  upon. 

Wid.  Though  my  estate  be  fallen,  I  was  well  born, 
Nothing  acquainted  with  these  businesses ; 
And  would  not  put  my  reputation  now 
In  any  staining  act. 

Hel.  Nor  would  I  wish  you. 

First,  give  me  trust,  the  count  he  is  my  husband, 

And  what  to  your  sworn  counsel  I  have  spoken 

Is  so  from  word  to  word ;   and  then  you  cannot,     10 

By  the  good  aid  that  I  of  you  shall  borrow. 

Err  in  bestowing  it. 

Wid.  I  should  believe  you  ; 

For  you  have  show'd  me  that  which  well  approves 
You  're  great  in  fortune. 

Hel.  Take  this  purse  of  gold, 

And  let  me  buy  your  friendly  help  thus  far, 

85 


Act  III.  Sc.  vii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Which  I  will  over-pay  and  pay  again 

When  I  have  found  it.     The  count  he  wooes  your 

daughter, 
Lays  down  his  wanton  siege  before  her  beauty, 
Resolved  to  carry  her :   let  her  in  fine  consent, 
As  we  '11  direct  her  how  'tis  best  to  bear  it.  20 

Now  his  important  blood  will  nought  deny 
That  she  '11  demand :  a  ring  the  county  wears, 
That  downward  hath  succeeded  in  his  house 
From  son  to  son,  some  four  or  five  descents 
Since  the  first  father  wore  it :  this  ring  he  holds 
In  most  rich  choice ;  yet  in  his  idle  fire, 
To  buy  his  will,  it  would  not  seem  too  dear, 
Howe'er  repented  after. 

Wid.  Now  I  see 

The  bottom  of  your  purpose. 

HeL  You  see  it  lawful,  then  :  it  is  no  more,  30 

But  that  your  daughter,  ere  she  seems  as  won. 
Desires  this  ring ;  appoints  him  an  encounter ; 
In  fine,  delivers  me  to  fill  the  time. 
Herself  most  chastely  absent :  after  this, 
To  marry  her,  I  '11  add  three  thousand  crowns 
To  what  is  past  already. 

Wid.  I  have  yielded  : 

Instruct  my  daughter  how  she  shall  persever. 
That  time  and  place  with  this  deceit  so  lawful 
May  prove  coherent.     Every  night  he  comes 
With  musics  of  all  sorts  and  songs  composed         40 
To  her  unworthiness  :   it  nothing  steads  us 
To  chide  him  from  our  eaves ;   for  he  persists 
As  if  his  life  lay  on  't. 

Hel.  Why  then  to-night 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  i. 

Let  us  assay  our  plot ;   which,  if  it  speed, 

Is  wicked  meaning  in  a  lawful  deed, 

And  lawful  meaning  in  a  lawful  act, 

Where  both  not  sin,  and  yet  a  sinful  fact : 

But  let 's  about  it.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  FOURTH. 
Scene  L 

Without  the  Florentine  camp. 

Enter  Second  French  Lord,  zcith  five  or  six  other 
Soldiers  in  amhush. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  can  come  no  other  way  but  by  this 

hedge-corner.  When  you  sally  upon  him,  * 
speak  what  terrible  language  you  will :  though 
you  understand  it  not  yourselves,  no  matter ;  for 
we  must  not  seem  to  understand  him,  unless 
some  one  among  us  whom  we  must  produce  for 
an  interpreter. 

First  Sold.  Good  captain,  let  me  be  the  interpreter. 

Sec.  Lord.  Art  not  acquainted  with  him  ?    knows  he 

not  thy  voice  ?  lO 

First  Sold.  No,  sir,  I  warrant  you. 

Sec.  Lord.  But  what  linsey-woolsey  hast  thou  to 
speak  to  us  again? 

First  Sold.  E'en  such  as  you  speak  to  me. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  must  think  us  some  band  of  strangers 
i'  the  adversary's  entertainment.  Now  he  hath 
a  smack  of  all  neighbouring  languages ;  there- 
fore we  must  every  one  be  a  man  of  his  own 
fancy,    not   to   know    what   we    speak    one   to 


Act  IV.  Sc.  i.  ALL 'S  WELL 

another ;  so  we  seem  to  know,  is  to  know  straight  20 
our  purpose ;  choughs'  language,  gabble  enough, 
and  good  enough.  As  for  you,  interpreter,  you 
must  seem  very  politic.  But  couch,  ho!  here 
he  comes,  to  beguile  two  hours  in  a  sleep,  and 
then  to  return  and  swear  the  lies  he  forges. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Par.  Ten  o'clock :  within  these  three  hours  'twill  be 
time  enough  to  go  home.  What  shall  I  say  I 
have  done?  It  must  be  a  very  plausive  inven- 
tion that  carries  it :  they  begin  to  smoke  me ;  30 
and  disgraces  have  of  late  knocked  too  often  at 
my  door.  I  find  my  tongue  is  too  foolhardy; 
but  my  heart  hath  the  fear  of  Mars  before  it  and 
of  his  creatures,  not  daring  the  reports  of  my 
tongue. 

Sec.  Lord.  This  is  the  first  truth  that  e'er  thine  own 
tongue  was  guilty  of. 

Par,  What  the  devil  should  move  me  to  undertake 
the  recovery  of  this  drum,  being  not  ignorant  of 
the  impossibility,  and  knowing  I  had  no  such  40 
purpose?  I  must  give  myself  some  hurts,  and 
say  I  got  them  in  exploit:  yet  slight  ones  will 
not  carry  it ;  they  will  say,  '  Came  you  off  with 
so  little  ? '  and  great  ones  I  dare  not  give. 
Wherefore,  what  's  the  instance  ?  Tongue,  I 
must  put  you  into  a  butter-woman's  mouth,  and 
buy  myself  another  of  Bajazet's  mule,  if  you 
prattle  me  into  these  perils. 

Sec.  Lord.  Is  it  possible  he  should  know  what  he  is, 

and  be  that  he  is  ?  50 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  i. 

Par.  I  would  the  cutting  of  my  garments  would  serve 
the  turn,  or  the  breaking  of  my  Spanish  sword. 

Sec.  Lord.  We  cannot  afford  you  so. 

Par.  Or  the  baring  of  my  beard;   and  to  say  it  was 
in  stratagem. 

Sec.  Lord.  'Twould  not  do. 

Par.  Or  to  drown  my  clothes,  and  say  I  was  stripped. 

Sec.  Lord.  Hardly  serve. 

Par.  Though  I  swore  I  leaped  from  the  window  of 

the  citadel —  60 

Sec.  Lord.  How  deep  ? 

Par.  Thirty  fathom. 

Sec.  Lord.  Three  great  oaths  would  scarce  make  that 
be  believed. 

Par.  I  would  I  had  any  drum  of  the  enemy's  would 
swear  I  recovered  it. 

Sec.  Lord.  You  shall  hear  one  anon. 

Par.  A  drum  now  of  the  enemy's, —         [Alarum  within. 

Sec.  Lord.  Throca  movousus,  cargo,  cargo,  cargo. 

All.  Cargo,  cargo,  cargo,  villianda  par  carbo,  cargo.     70 

Par.  O,  ransom,  ransom !    do  not  hide  mine  eyes. 

[They  seize  and  blindfold  him. 

First  Sold.  Boskos  thromuldo  boskos. 

Par.  I  know  you  are  the  Muskos'  regiment : 

And  I  shall  lose  my  life  for  want  of  language: 
If  there  be  here  German,  or  Dane,  low  Dutch, 
Italian,  or  French,  let  him  speak  to  me ;    I  '11 
Discover  that  which  shall  undo  the  Florentine. 

First  Sold.  Boskos  vauvado :   I  understand  thee,  and 
can  speak  thy  tongue.     Kerelybonto,  sir,  betake 
thee  to  thy  faith,  for  seventeen  poniards  are  at     80 
thy  bosom. 

89 


Act  IV.  Sc.  i.  ALL  *S  WELL 

Par.  O! 

First  Sold.  O,    pray,    pray,    pray!     Manka    revania 

dulche. 
Sec.  Lord.  Oscorbidulchos  volivorco. 
First  Sold.  The  general  is  content  to  spare  thee  yet ; 

And,  hoodwink'd  as  thou  art,  will  lead  thee  on 

To  gather  from  thee :   haply  thou  mayst  inform 

Something  to  save  thy  life. 
Par.  O,  let  me  live ! 

And  all  the  secrets  of  our  camp  I  '11  show,  90 

Their  force,  their  purposes ;  nay,  I  '11  speak  that 

Which  you  will  wonder  at. 
First  Sold.  But  wilt  thou  faithfully  ? 

Par.  If  I  do  not,  damn  me. 
First  Sold.  Acordo  linta. 

Come  on  ;  thou  art  granted  space. 

[Exit,  zuitJi  Parolles  guarded.     A  short 

alarum  within. 
Sec.  Lord.  Go,  tell  the  count  Rousillon  and  my  brother, 

We  have  caught  the  woodcock,  and  will  keep  him 
muffled 

Till  we  do  hear  from  them. 
Sec.  Sold.  Captain,  I  will. 

Sec.  Lord.  A'  will  betray  us  all  unto  ourselves : 

Inform  on  that.  100 

Sec.  Sold.  So  I  will,  sir. 

Sec.  Lord.  Till  then  I  '11  keep  him  dark  and  safely  lock'd. 

[Exeunt. 


go 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  ii. 

Scene  IL 

Florence.     The  Widozv's  house. 
Enter  Bertram  and  Diana. 

Ber.  They  told  me  that  your  name  was  Fontibell. 

Dia.  No,  my  good  lord,  Diana. 

Ber.  Titled  goddess ; 

And  worth  it,  with  addition !     But,  fair  soul, 

In  your  fine  frame  hath  love  no  quality  ? 

If  the  quick  fire  of  youth  light  not  your  mind, 

You  are  no  maiden,  but  a  monument : 

When  you  are  dead,  you  should  be  such  a  one 

As  you  are  now,  for  you  are  cold  and  stern ; 

And  now  you  should  be  as  your  mother  was 

When  your  sweet  self  was  got.  lo 

Dia.  She  then  was  honest. 

Ber.  So  should  you  be. 

Dia.  No : 

My  mother  did  but  duty ;   such,  my  lord, 
As  you  owe  to  your  wife. 

Ber.  No  more  o'  that; 

I  prithee,  do  not  strive  against  my  vows : 
I  was  compell'd  to  her ;  but  I  love  thee 
By  love's  own  sweet  constraint,  and  will  for  ever 
Do  thee  all  rights  of  service. 

Dia.  Ay,  so  you  serve  us 

Till  we  serve  you ;   but  when  you  have  our  roses. 
You  barely  leave  our  thorns  to  prick  ourselves, 
And  mock  us  with  our  bareness. 

Ber.  How  have  I  sworn !     20 

Dia.  'Tis  not  the  many  oaths  that  makes  the  truth. 
But  the  plain  single  vow  that  is  vow'd  true. 

91 


Act  IV.  Sc.  ii.  ALL  *S  WELL 

What  is  not  holy,  that  we  swear  not  by, 

But  take  the  High'st  to  witness :   then,  pray  you,  tell 

me. 
If  I  should  swear  by  Jove's  great  attributes, 
I  loved  you  dearly,  would  you  believe  my  oaths, 
When  I  did  love  you  ill  ?     This  has  no  holding, 
To  swear  by  him  whom  I  protest  to  love. 
That  I  will  work  against  him :  therefore  your  oaths 
Are  words  and  poor  conditions,  but  unseal'd,  30 

At  least  in  my  opinion. 

Ber.  Change  it,  change  it ; 

Be  not  so  holy-cruel :  love  is  holy ; 

And  my  integrity  ne'er  knew  the  crafts 

That  you  do  charge  men  with.     Stand  no  more  off, 

But  give  thyself  unto  my  sick  desires, 

Who  then  recover :   say  thou  art  mine,  and  ever 

My  love  as  it  begins  shall  so  persever. 
Dia.  I  see  that  men  make  rope's  in  such  a  scarre 

That  we  '11  forsake  ourselves.     Give  me  that  ring. 
Ber.  I  '11  lend  it  thee,  my  dear ;  but  have  no  power      40 

To  give  it  from  me. 
Dia.  Will  you  not,  my  lord  ? 

Ber.  It  is  an  honour  'longing  to  our  house, 

Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors ; 

Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 

In  me  to  lose. 
Dia.  Mine  honour  's  such  a  ring : 

My  chastity  's  the  jewel  of  our  house, 

Bequeathed  down  from  many  ancestors; 

Which  were  the  greatest  obloquy  i'  the  world 

In  me  to  lose :   thus  your  own  proper  wisdom 

Brings  in  the  champion  Honour  on  my  part,  50 

92 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  ii. 

Against  your  vain  assault. 

Ber.  Here,  take  my  ring: 

My  house,  mine  honour,  yea,  my  hfe,  be  thine, 
And  I  '11  be  bid  by  thee. 

Dia.  When  midnight  comes,  knock  at  my  chamber-window: 
I  '11  order  take  my  mother  shall  not  hear. 
Now  will  I  charge  you  in  the  band  of  truth. 
When  you  have  conquer'd  my  yet  maiden  bed. 
Remain  there  but  an  hour,  nor  speak  to  me : 
My  reasons  are  most  strong;    and  you  shall  know 

them 
When  back  again  this  ring  shall  be  delivered :  60 

And  on  your  finger  in  the  night  I  '11  put 
Another  ring,  that  what  in  time  proceeds 
May  token  to  the  future  our  past  deeds. 
Adieu,  till  then  ;  then,  fail  not.     You  have  won 
A  wife  of  me,  though  there  my  hope  be  done. 

Ber.  A  heaven  on  earth  I  have  won  by  wooing  thee. 

[Exit 

Dia.  For  which  live  long  to  thank  both  heaven  and  me ! 
You  may  so  in  the  end. 
My  mother  told  me  just  how  he  would  woo, 
As  if  she  sat  in  's  heart ;  she  says  all  men  70 

Have  the  like  oaths :   he  had  sworn  to  marry  me 
When  his  wife  's  dead ;  therefore  I  '11  He  with  him 
When  I  am  buried.     Since  Frenchmen  are  so  braid, 
Marry  that  will,  I  live  and  die  a  maid : 
Only  in  this  disguise  I  think  't  no  sin 
To  cozen  him  that  would  unjustly  win.  [Exit. 


9$ 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  *S  WELL 

Scene  IH. 

The  Florentine  Camp. 

Enter  the  two  French  Lords  and  some  two  or  three 

Soldiers. 

First  Lord.  You  have  not  given  him  his  mother's 
letter? 

Sec.  Lord.  I  have  deHvered  it  an  hour  since :  there  is 
something  in  't  that  stings  his  nature ;  for  on  the 
reading  it  he  changed  almost  into  another  man. 

First  Lord.  He  has  much  worthy  blame  laid  upon  him 
for  shaking  off  so  good  a  wife  and  so  sweet  a  lady. 

Sec.  Lord.  Especially  he  hath  incurred  the  everlast- 
ing displeasure  of  the  king,  who  had  even  tuned 
his  bounty  to  sing  happiness  to  him.     I  will  tell     lo 
you  a  thing,  but  you  shall  let  it  dwell  darkly 
with  you. 

First  Lord.  When  you  have  spoken  it,  'tis  dead,  and 
I  am  the  grave  of  it. 

Sec.  Lord.  He  hath  perverted  a  young  gentlewoman 
here  in  Florence,  of  a  most  chaste  renown ;  and 
this  night  he  fleshes  his  will  in  the  spoil  of  her 
honour :  he  hath  given  her  his  monumental  ring, 
and  thinks  himself  made  in  the  unchaste  com- 
position. 20 

First  Lord.  Now,  God  delay  our  rebellion;  as  we 
are  ourselves,  what  things  are  we ! 

Sec.  Lord.  Merely  our  own  traitors.  And  as  in  the 
common  course  of  all  treasons,  we  still  see  them 
reveal  themselves,  till  they  attain  to  their  ab- 
horred ends,  so  he  that  in  this  action  contrives 
against  his  own  nobility,  in  his  proper  stream 
o'erflows  himself. 

94 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  iii. 

First  Lord.  Is  it  not  meant  damnable  in  us,  to  be 

trumpeters  of  our  unlawful  intents?     We  shall     30 
not  then  have  his  company  to-night  ? 

Sec.  Lord.  Not  till  after  midnight ;  for  he  is  dieted 
to  his  hour. 

First  Lord.  That  approaches  apace:  I  would  gladly 
have  him  see  his  company  anatomized,  that  he 
might  take  a  measure  of  his  own  judgements, 
wherein  so  curiously  he  had  set  this  counterfeit. 

Sec.  Lord.  We  will  not  meddle  with  him  till  he  come ; 
for  his  presence  must  be  the  whip  of  the  other. 

First  Lord.  In  the  mean  time,  what  hear  you  of  these     40 
wars  ? 

Sec.  Lord.  I  hear  there  is  an  overture  of  peace. 

First  Lord.  Nay,  I  assure  you,  a  peace  concluded. 

Sec.  Lord.  What  will  Count  Rousillon  do  then  ?  will 
he  travel  higher,  or  return  again  into  France  ? 

First  Lord.  I  perceive,  by  this  demand,  you  are  not 
altogether  of  his  council. 

Sec.  Lord.  Let  it  be  forbid,  sir ;  so  should  I  be  a 
great  deal  of  his  act. 

First  Lord.  Sir,  his  wife  some  two  months  since  fled  50 
from  his  house :  her  pretence  is  a  pilgrimage  to 
Saint  Jaques  le  Grand ;  which  holy  undertaking 
with  most  austere  sanctimony  she  accomplished ; 
and,  there  residing,  the  tenderness  of  her  nature 
became  as  a  prey  to  her  grief;  in  fine,  made  a 
groan  of  her  last  breath,  and  now  she  sings  in 
heaven. 

Sec.  Lord.  How  is  this  justified? 

First  Lord.  The  stronger  part  of  it  by  her  own  letters, 

which  makes  her  story  true,  even  to  the  point  of    60 

95 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

her  death:  her  death  itself,  which  could  not  be 
her  office  to  say  is  come,  was  faithfully  confirmed 
by  the  rector  of  the  place. 

Sec.  Lord.  Hath  the  count  all  this  intelligence  ? 

First  Lord.  Ay,  and  the  particular  confirmations, 
point  from  point,  to  the  full  arming  of  the  verity. 

Sec.  Lord.  I  am  heartily  sorry  that  he  '11  be  glad  of 
this. 

First  Lord.  How  mightily  sometimes  we  make  us 

comforts  of  our  losses!  70 

Sec.  Lord.  And  how  mightily  some  other  times  we 
drown  our  gain  in  tears!  The  great  dignity 
that  his  valour  hath  here  acquired  for  him  shall 
at  home  be  encountered  with  a  shame  as  ample. 

First  Lord.  The  web  of  our  life  is  of  a  mingled  yarn, 
good  and  ill  together:  our  virtues  would  be 
proud,  if  our  faults  whipped  them  not ;  and  our 
crimes  would  despair,  if  they  were  not  cherished 
by  our  virtues. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 

How  now  !   where  's  your  master !  80 

Serv,  He  met  the  Duke  in  the  street,  sir,  of  whom  he 
hath  taken  a  solemn  leave :  his  lordship  will  next 
morning  for  France.     The  Duke  hath  offered 
him  letters  of  commendations  to  the  king. 
Sec,  Lord.  They  shall  be  no  more  than  needful  there, 

if  they  were  more  than  they  can  commend. 
First  Lord.  They  cannot  be  too  sweet  for  the  king's 
tartness.     Here  's  his  lordship  now. 

Enter  Bertram. 
How  now,  my  lord !   is  't  not  after  nndnight  ? 
96 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  iii. 

Ber.  I  have  to-night  dispatched  sixteen  businesses,  a  90 
month's  length  a-piece,  by  an  abstract  of  suc- 
cess: I  have  congied  with  the  Duke,  done  my 
adieu  with  his  nearest ;  buried  a  wife,  mourned 
for  her;  writ  to  my  lady  mother  I  am  return- 
ing ;  entertained  my  convoy ;  and  between  these 
main  parcels  of  dispatch  effected  many  nicer 
needs :  the  last  was  the  greatest,  but  that  I  have 
not  ended  yet. 

Sec.  Lord.  If  the  business  be  of  any  difficulty,  and 

this  morning  your  departure  hence,  it  requires  100 
haste  of  your  lordship. 

Ber.  I  mean,  the  business  is  not  ended,  as  fearing  to 
hear  of  it  hereafter.  But  shall  we  have  this  dia- 
logue between  the  fool  and  the  soldier?  Come, 
bring  forth  this  counterfeit  module  has  deceived 
me,  like  a  double-meaning  prophesier. 

Sec.  Lord.  Bring  him  forth :  hath  sat  i'  the  stocks  all 
night,  poor  gallant  knave. 

Ber.  No  matter ;  his  heels  have  deserved  it,  in  usurp- 
ing his  spurs  so  long.     How  does  he  carry  him-  no 
self? 

Sec.  Lord.  I  have  told  your  lordship  already,  the 
stocks  carry  him.  But  to  answer  you  as  you 
would  be  understood ;  he  weeps  like  a  wench 
that  had  shed  her  milk:  he  hath  confessed  him- 
self to  Morgan,  whom  he  supposes  to  be  a  friar, 
from  the  time  of  his  remembrance  to  this  very 
instant  disaster  of  his  setting  i'  the  stocks :  and 
what  think  you  he  hath  confessed  ? 

Ber.  Nothing  of  me,  has  a'  ?  120 

Sec.  Lord.  His  confession  is  taken,  and  it  shall  be 

97 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  *S  WELL 

read  to  his  face :  if  your  lordship  be  in  't,  as  I 
beHeve  you  are,  you  must  have  the  patience  to 
hear  it. 

Enter  ParoUes  guarded,  and  First  Soldier. 

Ber.  A  plague  upon  him !  muffled !  he  can  say  noth- 
ing of  me :   hush,  hush ! 

First  Lord.  Hoodman  comes  !     Portotartarossa. 

First  Sold.  He  calls  for  the  tortures :  what  will  you 
say  without  'em  ? 

Par.  I  will  confess  what  I  know  without  constraint:   130 
if  ye  pinch  me  like  a  pasty,  I  can  say  no  more. 

First  Sold.  Bosko  chimurcho. 

First  Lord.  Boblibindo  chicurmurco. 

First  Sold.  You  are  a  merciful  general.  Our  general 
bids  you  answer  to  what  I  shall  ask  you  out  of  a 
note. 

Par.  And  truly,  as  I  hope  to  live. 

First  Sold.  [Reads]  First  demand  of  him  how  many 
horse  the  Duke  is  strong.  What  say  you  to 
that?  140 

Par.  Five  or  six  thousand ;  but  very  weak  and  un- 
serviceable :  the  troops  are  all  scattered,  and  the 
commanders  very  poor  rogues,  upon  my  reputa- 
tion and  credit,  and  as  I  hope  to  live. 

First  Sold.  Shall  I  set  down  your  answer  so? 

Par.  Do :  I  '11  take  the  sacrament  on  't,  how  and 
which  way  you  will. 

Ber.  All 's  one  to  him.  What  a  past-saving  slave  is 
this! 

First  Lord.  You  're     deceived,     my    lord :      this     is   1 50 
Monsieur  Parolles,  the  gallant  militarist, — ^that 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  iii. 

was  his  own  phrase, — that  had  the  whole  theoric 
of  war  in  the  knot  of  his  scarf,  and  the  practice 
in  the  chape  of  his  dagger. 
Sec.  Lord.  I  will  never  trust  a  man  again  for  keeping 
his  sword  clean,  nor  believe  he  can  have  every 
thing  in  him  by  wearing  his  apparel  neatly. 
First  Sold.  Well,  that 's  set  down. 
Par.  Five  or  six  thousand  horse,  I  said, — I  will  say 

true, — or  thereabouts,  set  down,  for  I  '11  speak  i6o 
truth. 
First  Lord.  He  's  very  near  the  truth  in  this. 
Ber.  But  I  con  him  no  thanks  for  't,  in  the  nature  he 

delivers  it. 
Par.  Poor  rogues,  I  pray  you,  say. 
First  Sold.  Well,  that 's  set  down. 
Par.  I  humbly  thank  you,  sir :   a  truth  's  a  truth,  the 

rogues  are  marvellous  poor. 
First  Sold,  [reads^  Demand  of  him,  of  what  strength 

they  are  a-foot.     What  say  you  to  that?  170 

Par.  By  my  troth,  sir,  if  I  were  to  live  this  present 
hour,  I  will  tell  true.  Let  me  see:  Spurio,  a 
hundred  and  fifty ;  Sebastian,  so  many ;  Coram- 
bus,  so  many ;  Jaques,  so  many ;  Guiltian,  Cos- 
mo, Lodowick,  and  Gratii,  two  hundred  and  fifty 
each;  mine  ow^n  company,  Chitopher,  Vau- 
mond,  Bentii,  two  hundred  and  fifty  each :  so 
that  the  muster-file,  rotten  and  sound,  upon  my 
life,  amounts  not  to  fifteen  thousand  poll;  half 
of  the  which  dare  not  shake  the  snow  from  off  180 
their  cassocks,  lest  they  shake  themselves  to  pieces. 
Ber.  What  shall  be  done  to  him? 
First  Lord.  Nothing,  but  let  him  have  thanks.     De- 

99 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

mand  of  him  my  condition,  and  what  credit  I 
have  with  the  Duke. 

First  Sold.  Well,  that 's  set  down.  [Reads]  You 
shall  demand  of  him,  whether  one  Captain  Du- 
main  be  i'  the  camp,  a  Frenchman;  what  his 
reputation  is  with  the  Duke ;  what  his  valour, 
honesty,  and  expertness  in  wars ;  or  whether  he 
thinks  it  were  not  possible,  with  well-weighing  190 
sums  of  gold,  to  corrupt  him  to  a  revolt.  What 
say  you  to  this  ?  what  do  you  know  of  it  ? 

Par.  I  beseech  you,  let  me  answer  to  the  particular 
of  the  inter'gatories :    demand  them  singly. 

First  Sold.  Do  you  know  this  Captain  Dumain  ? 

Par.  I  know  him :  a'  was  a  botcher's  'prentice  in 
Paris,  from  whence  he  was  whipped  for  getting 
the  shrieve's  fool  with  child, — a  dumb  innocent, 
that  could  not  say  him  nay.  200 

Ber.  Nay,  by  your  leave,  hold  your  hands ;  though  I 
know  his  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next  tile  that 
falls. 

First  Sold.  Well,  is  this  captain  in  the  Duke  of 
Florence's  camp? 

Par.  Upon  my  knowledge,  he  is,  and  lousy. 

First  Lord.  Nay,  look  not  so  upon  me ;  we  shall  hear 
of  your  lordship  anon. 

First  Sold.  What  is  his  reputation  with  the  Duke  ? 

Par.  The  Duke  knows  him  for  no  other  but  a  poor  210 
officer  of  mine ;  and  writ  to  me  this  other  day  to 
turn  him  out  o'  the  band:    I  think  I  have  his 
letter  in  my  pocket. 

First  Sold.  Marry,  we  '11  search. 

Par.  In  good  sadness,  I  do  not  know;    either  it  is 

100 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  iii. 

there,  or  it  is  upon  a  file  with  the  Duke's  other 
letters  in  my  tent. 

First  Sold.  Here  'tis  ;  here  's  a  paper :  shall  I  read  it 
to  you? 

Par.  I  do  not  know  if  it  be  it  or  no.  220 

Ber.  Our  interpreter  does  it  well. 

First  Lord.  Excellently. 

First  Sold,    [reads]   Dian,  the  count 's  a  fool,  and  full  of 
gold,— 

Par.  That  is  not  the  Duke's  letter,  sir;  that  is  an 
advertisement  to  a  proper  maid  in  Florence,  one 
Diana,  to  take  heed  of  the  allurement  of  one 
Count  Rousillon,  a  foolish  idle  boy,  but  for  all 
that  very  ruttish :  I  pray  you,  sir,  put  it  up 
again. 

First  Sold.  Nay,  I  'U  read  it  first,  by  your  favour.      230 

Par.  My  meaning  in  't,  I  protest,  was  very  honest  in 
the  behalf  of  the  maid;  for  I  knew  the  young 
count  to  be  a  dangerous  and  lascivious  boy,  who 
is  a  whale  to  virginity  and  devours  up  all  the  fry 
it  finds. 
Ber.  Damnable  both-sides  rogue ! 

First  Sold,    [reads]   When  he  swears  oaths,  bid  him  drop 
gold,  and  take  it; 
After  he  scores,  he  never  pays  the  score : 
Half  won  is  match  well  made ;  match,  and  well  make 

it; 
He  ne'er  pays  after-debts,  take  it  before ;  240 

And  say  a  soldier,  Dian,  told  thee  this. 
Men  are  to  mell  with,  boys  are  not  to  kiss : 
For  count  of  this,  the  count 's  a  fool,  I  know  it, 
Who  pays  before,  but  not  when  he  does  owe  it. 
Thine,  as  he  vowed  to  thee  in  thine  ear, 

Parolles. 

lOI 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  *S  WELL 

Ber.  He  shall  be  whipped  through  the  army  with  this 
rhyme  in  's  forehead. 

Sec.  Lord.  This  is  your  devoted  friend,  sir,  the  mani- 
fold linguist  and  the  armipotent  soldier.  250 

Ber.  I  could  endure  any  thing  before  but  a  cat,  and 
now  he  's  a  cat  to  me. 

First  Sold.  I  perceive,  sir,  by  the  general's  looks,  we 
shall  be  fain  to  hang  you. 

Par.  My  life,  sir,  in  any  case :   not  that  I  am  afraid  . 
to  die;    but  that,   my  offences  being  many,   I 
would  repent  out  the  remainder  of  nature:    let 
me  live,  sir,  in  a  dungeon,  i'  the  stocks,  or  any 
where,  so  I  may  live. 

First  Sold.  We  '11   see   what  may  be   done,   so  you  260 
confess    freely ;    therefore,    once   more   to   this 
Captain   Dumain :    you   have   answered   to   his 
reputation  with  the  Duke  and  to  his  valour: 
what  is  his  honesty? 

Par.  He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister :  for 
rapes  and  ravishments  he  parallels  Nessus :  he 
professes  not  keeping  of  oaths ;  in  breaking  'em 
he  is  stronger  than  Hercules :  he  will  lie,  sir, 
with  such  volubility,  that  you  would  think  truth 
were  a  fool :  drunkenness  is  his  best  virtue,  for  270 
he  will  be  swine-drunk ;  and  in  his  sleep  he  does 
little  harm,  save  to  his  bed-clothes  about  him; 
but  they  know  his  conditions  and  lay  him  in 
straw.  I  have  but  little  more  to  say,  sir,  of  his 
honesty :  he  has  every  thing  that  an  honest  man 
should  not  have;  what  an  honest  man  should 
have,  he  has  nothing. 

First  Lord.  I  begin  to  love  him  for  this. 

102 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  iii. 

Ber.  For  this  description  of  thine  honesty?     A  pox 

upon  him  for  me,  he  's  more  and  more  a  cat.        280 

First  Sold.  What  say  you  to  his  expertness  in  war. 

Par.  Faith,  sir,  has  led  the  drum  before  the  EngHsh 
tragedians ;  to  beUe  him,  I  will  not,  and  more 
of  his  soldiership  I  know  not;  except,  in  that 
country  he  had  the  honour  to  be  the  officer  at  a 
place  there  called  Mile-end,  to  instruct  for  the 
doubling  of  files:  I  would  do  the  man  what 
honour  I  can,  but  of  this  I  am  not  certain. 

First  Lord.  He  hath  out-villained  villany  so  far,  that 

the  rarity  redeems  him.  290 

Ber.  A  pox  on  him,  he 's  a  cat  still. 

First  Sold.  His  qualities  being  at  this  poor  price,  I 
need  not  to  ask  you  if  gold  will  corrupt  him  to 
revolt. 

Par.  Sir,  for  a  quart  of  d'ecu  he  will  sell  the  fee- 
simple  of  his  salvation,  the  inheritance  of  it ;  and 
cut  the  entail  from  all  remainders,  and  a  per- 
petual succession  for  it  perpetually. 

First  Sold.  What's  his  brother,  the  other  Captain 
Dumain  ? 

Sec.  Lord.  Why  does  he  ask  him  of  me?  300 

First  Sold.  What's  he? 

Par.  E'en  a  crow  o'  the  same  nest;  not  altogether 
so  great  as  the  first  in  goodness,  but  greater  a 
great  deal  in  evil:  he  excels  his  brother  for  a 
coward,  yet  his  brother  is  reputed  one  of  the  best 
that  is:  in  a  retreat  he  outruns  any  lackey; 
marry,  in  coming  on  he  has  the  cramp. 

First  Sold.  If  your  Hfe  be  saved,  will  you  tmdertake 
to  betray  the  Florentine  ? 

Par.  Ay,and  the  captain  of  his  horse.  Count Rousillon.  310 

103 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

First  Sold.  I  '11  whisper  with  the  general,  and  know 
his  pleasure. 

Par,  [Aside]  I'll  no  more  drumming;  a  plague  of 
all  drums !  Only  to  seem  to  deserve  well,  and  to 
beguile  the  supposition  of  that  lascivious  young 
boy  the  count,  have  I  run  into  this  danger.  Yet 
who  would  have  suspected  an  ambush  where  I 
was  taken  ? 

First  Sold.  There  is  no  remedy,  sir,  but  you  must 

die:  the  general  says,  you  that  have  so  traitor-  320 
ously  discovered  the  secrets  of  your  army  and 
made  such  pestiferous  reports  of  men  very 
nobly  held,  can  serve  the  world  for  no  honest 
use ;  therefore  you  must  die.  Come,  headsman, 
off  with  his  head. 

Par.  O  Lord,  sir,  let  me  live,  or  let  me  see  my  death ! 

First  Sold.  That  shall  you,  and  take  your  leave  of  all 

your  friends.  [Unhlinding  him. 

So,  look  about  you :  know  you  any  here  ? 

Ber.  Good  morrow,  noble  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.  God  bless  you.  Captain  Parolles.  330 

First  Lord.  God  save  you,  noble  captain. 

Sec.  Lord.  Captain,  what  greeting  will  you  to  my 
Lord  Lafeu?     I  am  for  France. 

First  Lord.  Good  captain,  will  you  give  me  a  copy  of 
the  sonnet  you  writ  to  Diana  in  behalf  of  the 
Count  Rousillon  ?  an  I  were  not  a  very  coward, 
I  'Id  compel  it  of  you :   but  fare  you  well. 

[Exeunt  Bertram  and  Lords. 

First  Sold.  You  are  undone,  captain,  all  but  your 
scarf ;   that  has  a  knot  on  't  yet. 

Par.  Who  cannot  be  crushed  with  a  plot?  340 

First  Sold,  If  you  could  find  out  a  country  where  but 

104 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  iv. 

women  were  that  had  received  so  much  shame, 
you  might  begin  an  impudent  nation.  Fare  ye 
well,  sir;  I  am  for  France  too:  we  shall  speak 
of  you  there.  [Exit  with  Soldiers. 

Par.  Yet  am  I  thankful :   if  my  heart  were  great, 

'Twould  burst  at  this.     Captain  I  '11  be  no  more ; 

But  I  will  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  as  soft 

As  captain  shall :  simply  the  thing  I  am 

Shall  make  me  live.   Who  knows  himself  a  braggart, 

Let  him  fear  this,  for  it  will  come  to  pass  351 

That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass. 

Rust,  sword !   cool,  blushes !   and,  Parolles,  live 

Safest  in  shame !  being  fool'd,  by  foolery  thrive ! 

There  's  place  and  means  for  every  man  alive. 

I  '11  after  them.  [E^'it- 

Scene  IV. 

Florence.     The  Widow's  house. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana. 

Hel.  That  you  may  well  perceive  I  have  not  wrong'd  you. 
One  of  the  greatest  in  the  Christian  world 
Shall  be  my  surety ;  'fore  whose  throne  'tis  needful, 
Ere  I  can  perfect  mine  intents,  to  kneel : 
Time  was,  I  did  him  a  desired  office. 
Dear  almost  as  his  life ;   which  gratitude 
Through  flinty  Tartar's  bosom  would  peep  forth, 
And  answer,  thanks :   I  duly  am  inform'd 
His  grace  is  at  Marseilles ;  to  which  place 
We  have  convenient  convoy.     You  must  know,      10 
I  am  supposed  dead :   the  army  breaking. 
My  husband  hies  him  home ;  where,  heaven  aiding, 

105 


Act  IV.  Sc.  iv.  ALL  'S  WELL 

And  by  the  leave  of  my  good  lord  the  king, 
We  '11  be  before  our  welcome. 

Wid,  Gentle  madam, 

You  never  had  a  servant  to  whose  trust 
Your  business  was  more  welcome. 

Hel.  Nor  you,  mistress, 

Ever  a  friend  whose  thoughts  more  truly  labour 
To  recompense  your  love :   doubt  not  but  heaven 
Hath  brought  me  up  to  be  your  daughter's  dower. 
As  it  hath  fated  her  to  be  my  motive  20 

And  helper  to  a  husband.     But,  O  strange  men ! 
That  can  such  sweet  use  make  of  what  they  hate, 
When  saucy  trusting  of  the  cozen 'd  thoughts 
Defiles  the  pitchy  night :  so  lust  doth  play 
With  what  it  loathes  for  that  which  is  away. 
But  more  of  this  hereafter.     You,  Diana, 
Under  my  poor  instructions  yet  must  suffer 
Something  in  my  behalf. 

Dia.  Let  death  and  honesty 

Go  with  your  impositions,  I  am  yours 
Upon  your  will  to  suffer. 

Hel.  Yet,  I  pray  you:  30 

But  with  the  word  the  time  will  bring  on  summer. 
When  briers  shall  have  leaves  as  well  as  thorns, 
And  be  as  sweet  as  sharp.     We  must  away ; 
Our  waggon  is  prepared,  and  time  revives  us : 
All  's  well  that  ends  well  :    still  the  fine  's  the 

crown ; 
Whate'er  the  course,  the  end  is  the  renown. 

[Exeunt 


106 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  v. 

Scene  V. 

Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace. 

Enter  Countess,  Lafeu,  and  Clown. 

Laf.  No,  no,  no,  your  son  was  misled  with  a  snipt- 
taffeta  fellow  there,  whose  villanous  saffron 
would  have  made  all  the  unbaked  and  doughy 
youth  of  a  nation  in  his  colour :  your  daughter- 
in-law  had  been  alive  at  this  hour,  and  your  son 
here  at  home,  more  advanced  by  the  king  than 
by  that  red-tailed  humble-bee  I  speak  of. 

Count.  I  would  I  had  not  known  him;  it  was  the 
death  of  the  most  virtuous  gentlewoman  that 
ever  nature  had  praise  for  creating.  If  she  had  lo 
partaken  of  my  flesh,  and  cost  me  the  dearest 
groans  of  a  mother,  I  could  not  have  owed  her 
a  more  rooted  love. 

Laf,  'Twas  a  good  lady,  'twas  a  good  lady ;  we  may 
pick  a  thousand  salads  ere  we  light  on  such 
another  herb. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  she  was  the  sweet-marjoram  of  the 
salad,  or  rather,  the  herb  of  grace. 

Laf.  They  are  not  herbs,  you  knave ;  they  are  nose- 
herbs.  20 

Clo.  I  am  no  great  Nebuchadnezzar,  sir ;  I  have  not 
much  skill  in  grass. 

Laf.  Whether  dost  thou  profess  thyself,  a  knave  or 
a  fool? 

Clo.  A  fool,  sir,  at  a  woman's  service,  and  a  knave  at 
a  man's. 

Laf.  Your  distinction? 

107 


Act  IV.  Sc.  V.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Clo.  I  would  cozen  the  man  of  his  wife  and  do  his 
service. 

Laf.  So  you  were  a  brave  knave  at  his  service,  in-     30 
deed. 

Clo.  And  I  would  give  his  wife  my  bauble,  sir,  to 
do  her  service. 

Laf.  I  will  subscribe  for  thee,  thou  art  both  knave 
and  fool. 

Clo.  At  your  service. 

Laf.  No,  no,  no. 

Clo.  Why,  sir,  if  I  cannot  serve  you,  I  can  serve  as 
great  a  prince  as  you  are.  " 

Laf.  Who  's  that  ?  a  Frenchman  ?  40 

Clo.  Faith,  sir,  a'  has  an  English  name ;  but  his  fis- 
nomy  is  more  hotter  in  France  than  there. 

Laf.  What  prince  is  that  ? 

Clo.  The  black  prince,  sir ;  alias,  the  prince  of  dark- 
ness ;  alias,  the  devil. 

Laf.  Hold  thee,  there  's  my  purse :  I  give  thee  not 
this  to  suggest  thee  from  thy  master  thou  talkest 
of ;   serve  him  still. 

Clo.  I  am  a  woodland  fellow,  sir,  that  always  loved 

a  great  fire;  and  the  master  I  speak  of  ever  50 
keeps  a  good  fire.  But,  sure,  he  is  the  prince 
of  the  world ;  let  his  nobility  remain  in  's  court. 
I  am  for  the  house  with  the  narrow  gate,  which 
I  take  to  be  too  little  for  pomp  to  enter:  some 
that  humble  themselves  may ;  but  the  many  will 
be  too  chill  and  tender,  and  they  '11  be  for  the 
flowery  way  that  leads  to  the  broad  gate  and  the 
great  fire. 

Laf.  Go  thy  ways,  I  begin  to  be  aweary  of  thee ;  and 

108 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  IV.  Sc.  v. 

I  tell  thee  so  before,  because  I  would  not  fall  out     60 
with  thee.     Go  thy  ways  ;   let  my  horses  be  well 
looked  to,  without  any  tricks. 

Clo,  If  I  put  any  tricks  upon  'em,  sir,  they  shall  be 
jades'  tricks ;  which  are  their  own  right  by  the 
law  of  nature.  [Exit. 

Laf.  A  shrewd  knave  and  an  unhappy. 

Count.  So  he  is.  My  lord  that 's  gone  made  himself 
much  sport  out  of  him :  by  his  authority  he  re- 
mains here,  which  he  thinks  is  a  patent  for  his 
sauciness  ;  and,  indeed,  he  has  no  pace,  but  runs 
where  he  will.  70 

Laf.  I  like  him  well ;  'tis  not  amiss.  And  I  was 
about  to  tell  you,  since  I  heard  of  the  good 
lady's  death  and  that  my  lord  your  son  was  upon 
his  return  home,  I  moved  the  king  my  master 
to  speak  in  the  behalf  of  my  daughter;  which, 
in  the  minority  of  them  both,  his  majesty,  out  of 
a  self-gracious  remembrance,  did  first  propose: 
his  highness  hath  promised  me  to  do  it :  and,  to 
stop  up  the  displeasure  he  hath  conceived  against 
your  son,  there  is  no  fitter  matter.  How  does  80 
your  ladyship  like  it  ? 

Count.  With  very  much  content,  my  lord;  and  I 
wish  it  happily  effected. 

Laf.  His  highness  comes  post  from  Marseilles,  of  as 
able  body  as  when  he  numbered  thirty :  he  will 
be  here  to-morrow,  or  I  am  deceived  by  him 
that  in  such  intelligence  hath  seldom  failed. 

Count.  It  rejoices  me,  that  I  hope  I  shall  see  him  ere 
I  die.     I  have  letters  that  my  son  will  be  here 
to-night:    I  shall  beseech  your  lordship  to  re-     90 
main  with  me  till  they  meet  together. 

109 


Act  V.  Sc.  i.  ALL  *S  WELL 

Laf.  Madam,  I  was  thinking  with  what  manners  I 

might  safely  be  admitted. 
Count.  You  need  but  plead  your  honourable  privilege. 
Laf.  Lady,  of  that  I  have  made  a  bold  charter ;  but  I 

thank  my  God  it  holds  yet. 

Re-enter  Clozvn. 

Clo.  O  madam,  yonder  's  my  lord  your  son  with  a 
patch  of  velvet  on  's  face :  whether  there  be  a 
scar  under  't  or  no,  the  velvet  knows ;  but  'tis 
a  goodly  patch  of  velvet:  his  left  cheek  is  a  loo 
cheek  of  two  pile  and  a  half,  but  his  right  cheek 
is  worn  bare. 

Laf.  A  scar  nobly  got,  or  a  noble  scar,  is  a  good 
livery  of  honour ;   so  belike  is  that. 

Clo.  But  it  is  your  carbonadoed  face. 

Laf.  Let  us  go  see  your  son,  I  pray  you :  I  long  to 
talk  with  the  young  noble  soldier. 

Clo.  Faith,  there  's  a  dozen  of  'em,  with  delicate  fine 
hats  and  most  courteous  feathers,  which  bow  the 
head  and  nod  at  every  man.  {Exeunt. 


ACT  FIFTH. 

Scene  L 

Marseilles.     A  street. 

Enter  Helena,  Widow,  and  Diana,  zvith  tzvo  Attendants. 

Hel.  But  this  exceeding  posting  day  and  night 

Must  wear  your  spirits  low ;  we  cannot  help  it : 
But  since  you  have  made  the  days  and  nights  as  one, 
To  wear  your  gentle  limbs  in  my  affairs, 

no 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc,  i. 

Be  bold  you  do  so  grow  in  my  requital 

As  nothing  can  unroot  you.     In  happy  time ; 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

This  man  may  help  me  to  his  majesty's  ear, 

If  he  would  spend  his  power.     God  save  you,  sir. 
Gent.  And  you. 

Hel.  Sir,  I  have  seen  you  in  the  court  of  France.  lo 

Gent.  I  have  been  sometimes  there. 
Hel.  I  do  presume,  sir,  that  you  are  not  fallen 

From  the  report  that  goes  upon  your  goodness ; 

And  therefore,  goaded  with  most  sharp  occasions, 

Which  lay  nice  manners  by,  I  put  you  to 

The  use  of  your  own  virtues,  for  the  which 

I  shall  continue  thankful. 
Gent.  What 's  your  will  ? 

Hel.  That  it  will  please  you 

To  give  this  poor  petition  to  the  king. 

And  aid  me  with  that  store  of  power  you  have        20 

To  come  into  his  presence. 
Gent.  The  king  's  not  here. 
Hel.  Not  here,  sir ! 

Gent.  Not,  indeed: 

He  hence  removed  last  night  and  with  more  haste 

Than  is  his  use. 
Wid.  Lord,  how  we  lose  our  pains ! 

Hel.  All  's  well  that  ends  well  yet. 

Though  time  seem  so  adverse  and  means  unfit. 

I  do  beseech  you,  whither  is  he  gone? 
Gent.  Marry,  as  I  take  it,  to  Rousillon ; 

Whither  I  am  going. 
Hel.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir, 

III 


Act  V.  Sc.  ii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Since  you  are  like  to  see  the  king  before  me,  30 

Commend  the  paper  to  his  gracious  hand, 

Which  I  presume  shall  render  you  no  blame 

But  rather  make  you  thank  your  pains  for  it. 

I  will  come  after  you  with  what  good  speed 

Our  means  will  make  us  means. 

Gent.  This  I  '11  do  for  you. 

Hel.  And  you  shall  find  yourself  to  be  well  thank'd, 
Whate'er  falls  more.  We  must  to  horse  again. 
Go,  go,  provide.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  H. 

Rousillon.     Before  the  Count's  palace. 
Enter  Clozvn,  and  Parolles,  follozving. 

Par.  Good  Monsieur  Lavache,  give  my  Lord  Lafeu 
this  letter:  I  have  ere  now,  sir,  been  better 
known  to  you,  when  I  have  held  familiarity 
with  fresher  clothes;  but  I  am  now,  sir, 
muddied  in  fortune's  mood,  and  smell  some- 
what strong  of  her  strong  displeasure. 

Clo.  Truly,  fortune's  displeasure  is  but  sluttish,  if  it 
smell  so  strongly  as  thou  speakest  of:  I  will 
henceforth  eat  no  fish  of  fortune's  buttering. 
Prithee,  allow  the  wind.  10 

Par.  Nay,  you  need  not  to  stop  your  nose,  sir;  I 
spake  but  by  a  metaphor. 

Clo.  Indeed,  sir,  if  your  metaphor  stink,  I  will  stop 
my  nose;  or  against  any  man's  metaphor. 
Prithee,  get  thee  further. 

Par.  Pray  you,  sir,  deliver  me  this  paper. 

Clo.  Foh !     prithee,    stand    away :     a    paper    from 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  ii. 

fortune's    close-stool    to    give    to    a   nobleman! 
Look,  here  he  comes  himself. 

Enter  Lafeu. 

Here  is  a  purr  of  fortune's,  sir,  or  of  fortune's  20 
cat, — but  not  a  musk-cat, — that  has  fallen  into 
the  unclean  fishpond  of  her  displeasure,  and,  as 
he  says,  is  muddied  withal:  pray  you,  sir,  use 
the  carp  as  you  may;  for  he  looks  like  a  poor, 
decayed,  ingenious,  fooHsh,  rascally  knave.  I 
do  pity  his  distress  in  my  similes  of  comfort  and 
leave  him  to  your  lordship.  [Exit. 

Par.  My  lord,  I  am  a  man  whom  fortune  hath  cruelly 
scratched. 

Laf.  And  what  would  you  have  me  to  do?  'Tis  30 
too  late  to  pare  her  nails  now.  Wherein  have 
you  played  the  knave  with  fortune,  that  she 
should  scratch  you,  who  of  herself  is  a  good  lady 
and  would  not  have  knaves  thrive  long  under 
her?  There's  a  quart  d'ecu  for  you:  let  the 
justices  make  you  and  fortune  friends ;  I  am  for 
other  business. 

Far.  I  beseech  your  honour  to  hear  me  one  single  word. 

Eaf.  You  beg  a  single  penny  more :  come,  you  shall 
ha  't ;  save  your  word. 

Par.  My  name,  my  good  lord,  is  ParoUes.  40 

Laf.  You  beg  more  than  '  word,'  then.  Cox  my 
passion!  give  me  your  hand.  How  does  your 
drum? 

Par.  O  my  good  lord,  you  were  the  first  that  found 
me! 

Laf.  Was  I,  in  sooth?  and  I  was  the  first  that  lost 
thee. 

113 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Par.  It  lies  in  you,  my  lord,  to  bring  me  in  some 
grace,  for  you  did  bring  me  out. 

Laf.  Out  upon  thee,  knave !  dost  thou  put  upon  me  50 
at  once  both  the  office  of  God  and  the  devil? 
One  brings  thee  in  grace  and  the  other  brings 
thee  out.  [Trumpets  sound.]  The  king's  com- 
ing ;  I  know  by  his  trumpets.  Sirrah,  inquire 
further  after  me ;  I  had  talk  of  you  last  night ; 
though  you  are  a  fool  and  a  knave,  you  shall 
eat ;  go  to,  follow. 

Par.  I  praise  God  for  you.  [Exeunt. 

Scene  IH. 

Rousillon.     The  Count's  palace. 

Flourish.     Enter  King,  Countess,  Lafeu,  the  two 
French  Lords,  zvith  Attendants. 

King.  We  lost  a  jewel  of  her;  and  our  esteem 

Was  made  much  poorer  by  it :  but  your  son, 

As  mad  in  folly,  lack'd  the  sense  to  know 

Her  estimation  home. 
Count.  'Tis  past,  my  liege ; 

And  I  beseech  your  majesty  to  make  it 

Natural  rebellion,  done  i'  the  blaze  of  youth ; 

When  oil  and  fire,  too  strong  for  reason's  force, 

O'erbears  it  and  bums  on. 
King.  My  honour'd  lady, 

I  have  forgiven  and  forgotten  all ; 

Though  my  revenges  were  high  bent  upon  him,      lo 

And  watch'd  the  time  to  shoot. 
Laf.  This  I  must  say, 

But  first  I  beg  my  pardon,  the  young  lord 

114 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  iii. 

Did  to  his  majesty,  his  mother  and  his  lady 

Offence  of  mighty  note ;  but  to  himself 

The  greatest  wrong  of  all.     He  lost  a  wife 

Whose  beauty  did  astonish  the  survey 

Of  richest  eyes,  whose  words  all  ears  took  captive, 

Whose  dear  perfection  hearts  that  scorn'd  to  serve 

Humbly  call'd  mistress. 

King.  Praising  what  is  lost 

Makes  the  remembrance  dear.    Well,  call  him  hither ; 

We  are  reconciled,  and  the  first  view  shall  kill        21 

All  repetition  :  let  him  not  ask  our  pardon ; 

The  nature  of  his  great  offence  is  dead, 

And  deeper  than  oblivion  we  do  bury 

The  incensing  relics  of  it :'  let  him  approach, 

A  stranger,  no  offender ;  and  inform  him 

So  'tis  our  will  he  should. 

Gent.  I  shall,  my  liege.         [Exit. 

King.  What  says  he  to  your  daughter  ?  have  you  spoke  ? 

Laf.  All  that  he  is  hath  reference  to  your  highness. 

King.  Then  shall  we  have  a  match.     I  have  letters  sent 
me 
That  set  him  high  in  fame. 

Enter  Bertram. 

Laf.  He  looks  well  on  't.       31 

King.  I  am  not  a  day  of  season, 

For  thou  mayst  see  a  sunshine  and  a  hail 
In  me  at  once :  but  to  the  brightest  beams 
Distracted  clouds  give  way ;   so  stand  thou  forth ; 
The  time  is  fair  again. 

Ber.  My  high-repented  blames, 

Dear  sovereign,  pardon  to  me. 

King.  All  is  whole; 

IIS 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

Not  one  word  more  of  the  consumed  time. 

Let 's  take  the  instant  by  the  forward  top ; 

For  we  are  old,  and  on  our  quick' st  decrees  40 

The  inaudible  and  noiseless  foot  of  Time 

Steals  ere  we  can  effect  them.     You  remember 

The  daughter  of  this  lord? 

Ber.  Admiringly,  my  liege,  at  first 

I  stuck  my  choice  upon  her,  ere  my  heart 
Durst  make  too  bold  a  herald  of  my  tongue : 
Where  the  impression  of  mine  eye  infixing, 
Contempt  his  scornful  perspective  did  lend  me. 
Which  warp'd  the  line  of  every  other  favour ; 
Scorn'd  a  fair  colour,  or  express'd  it  stolen;  50 

Extended  or  contracted  all  proportions 
To  a  most  hideous  object :   thence  it  came 
That  she  whom  all  men  praised  and  whom  myself, 
Since  I  have  lost,  have  loved,  was  in  mine  eye 
The  dust  that  did  offend  it. 

King.  Well  excused: 

That  thou  didst  love  her,  strikes  some  scores  away 
From  the  great  compt :   but  love  that  comes  too  late, 
Like  a  remorseful  pardon  slowly  carried. 
To  the  great  sender  turns  a  sour  offence. 
Crying  '  That 's  good  that 's  gone.'     Our  rash  faults 
Make  trivial  price  of  serious  things  we  have,         61 
Not  knowing  them  until  we  know  their  grave : 
Oft  our  displeasures  to  ourselves  unjust, 
Destroy  our  friends  and  after  weep  their  dust : 
Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  what 's  done. 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  afternoon. 
Be  this  sweet  Helen's  knell,  and  now  forget  her. 
Send  forth  your  amorous  token  for  fair  Alaudlin : 

116 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  iii. 

The  main  consents  are  had  ;  and  here  we  '11  stay 

To  see  our  widower's  second  marriage-day.  70 

Count.  Which  better  than  the  first,  O  dear  heaven,  bless! 

Or,  ere  they  meet,  in  me,  O  nature,  cesse  ! 
Laf,  Come  on,  my  son,  in  whom  my  house's  name 

Must  be  digested,  give  a  favour  from  you 

To  sparkle  in  the  spirits  of  my  daughter, 

That  she  may  quickly  come.     [Bertram  gives  a  ring.] 
By  my  old  beard. 

And  every  hair  that 's  on  't,  Helen,  that 's  dead, 

Was  a  sweet  creature :   such  a  ring  as  this. 

The  last  that  e'er  I  took  her  leave  at  court, 

I  saw  upon  her  finger. 
Ber.  Hers  it  was  not.  ♦  80 

King.  Now,  pray  you,  let  me  see  it ;   for  mine  eye. 

While  I  was  speaking,  oft  was  fasten'd  to  't. 

This  ring  was  mine ;   and,  when  I  gave  it  Helen, 

I  bade  her,  if  her  fortunes  ever  stood 

Necessitied  to  help,  that  by  this  token 

I  would  relieve  her.     Had  you  that  craft,  to  reave  her 

Of  what  should  stead  her  most  ? 
Ber.  My  gracious  sovereign, 

Howe'er  it  pleases  you  to  take  it  so. 

The  ring  was  never  hers. 
Count.  Son,  on  my  life, 

I  have  seen  her  wear  it ;   and  she  reckon'd  it  90 

At  her  life's  rate. 
Laf.  I  am  sure  I  saw  her  wear  it. 

Ber.  You  are  deceived,  my  lord ;   she  never  saw  it : 

In  Florence  was  it  from  a  casement  thrown  me, 

Wrapp'd  in  a  paper,  which  contain'd  the  name 

Of  her  that  threw  it :  noble  she  was,  and  thought 
117 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

I  stood  engaged  :  but  when  I  had  subscribed 

To  mine  own  fortune  and  inform'd  her  fully 

I  could  not  answer  in  that  course  of  honour 

As  she  had  made  the  overture,  she  ceased 

In  heavy  satisfaction  and  would  never  loo 

Receive  the  ring  again. 

King.  Plutus  himself, 

That  knows  the  tinct  and  multiplying  medicine, 
Hath  not  in  nature's  mystery  m.ore  science 
Than  I  have  in  this  ring :   'twas  mine,  'twas  Helen's, 
Whoever  gave  it  you.     Then,  if  you  know 
That  you  are  well  acquainted  with  yourself. 
Confess  'twas  hers,  and  by  what  rough  enforcement 
You  gottt  from  her :  she  call'd  the  saints  to  surety 
That  she  would  never  put  it  from  her  finger, 
Unless  she  gave  it  to  yourself  in  bed,  i  lo 

Where  you  have  never  come,  or  sent  it  us 
Upon  her  great  disaster. 

Ber.  She  never  saw  it. 

King.  Thou  speak'st  it  falsely,  as  I  love  mine  honour; 
And  makest  conjectural  fears  to  come  into  me. 
Which  I  would  fain  shut  out.     If  it  should  prove 
That  thou  art  so  inhuman, — 'twill  not  prove  so ; — 
.  And  yet  I  know  not :  thou  didst  hate  her  deadly, 
And  she  is  dead ;  which  nothing,  but  to  close 
Her  eyes  myself,  could  win  me  to  believe. 
More  than  to  see  this  ring.     Take  him  away.        120 

[Guards  seize  Bertram. 
My  fore-past  proofs,  howe'er  the  matter  fall. 
Shall  tax  my  fears  of  little  vanity. 
Having  vainly  fear'd  too  little.     Away  with  him ! 
We  '11  sift  this  matter  further. 
118 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  iii. 

Ber,  If  you  shall  prove 

This  ring  was  ever  hers,  you  shall  as  easy 
Prove  that  I  husbanded  her  bed  in  Florence, 
Where  yet  she  never  was.  [Exit,  guarded. 

King.  I  am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings. 

Enter  a  Gentleman. 

Gent.  Gracious  sovereign, 

Whether  I  have  been  to  blame  or  no,  I  know  not : 
Here  's  a  petition  from  a  Florentine,  130 

Who  hath  for  four  or  five  removes  come  short 
To  tender  it  herself.     I  undertook  it, 
Vanquish'd  thereto  by  the  fair  grace  and  speech 
Of  the  poor  suppliant,  who  by  this  I  knpw 
Is  here  attending :   her  business  looks  in  her 
With  an  importing  visage ;  and  she  told  me, 
In  a  sweet  verbal  brief,  it  did  concern 
Your  highness  with  herself. 

King.  [Reads]  Upon  his  many  protestations  to  marry 

me  when  his  wife  was  dead,  I  blush  to  say  it,  140 
he  won  me.  Now  is  the  Count  Rousillon  a 
widower :  his  vows  are  forfeited  to  me,  and  my 
honour  's  paid  to  him.  He  stole  from  Florence, 
taking  no  leave,  and  I  follow  him  to  his  country 
for  Justice :  grant  it  me,  O  king !  in  you  it  best 
lies ;  otherwise  a  seducer  flourishes,  and  a  poor 
maid  is  undone.  Diana  Capilet. 

Laf.  I  will  buy  me  a  son-in-law  in  a  fair,  and  toll  for 
this  :   I  '11  none  of  him. 

King.  The  heavens  have  thought  well  on  thee,  Lafeu,   150 
To  bring  forth  this  discovery.     Seek  these  suitors  : 
Go  speedily  and  bring  again  the  count, 
iig 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

I  am  afeard  the  life  of  Helen,  lady, 
Was  foully  snatch'd. 
Count.  Now,  justice  on  the  doers! 

Re-enter  Bertram,  guarded. 

King.  I  wonder,  sir,  sith  wives  are  monsters  to  you, 
And  that  you  fly  them  as  you  swear  them  lordship, 
Yet  you  desire  to  marry. 

Enter  Widow  and  Diana. 

What  woman  's  that  ? 

Dia.  I  am,  my  lord,  a  wretched  Florentine, 
Derived  from  the  ancient  Capilet : 
My  suit,  as  I  do  understand,  you  know,  i6o 

And  therefore  know  how  far  I  may  be  pitied. 

Wid.  I  am  her  mother,  sir,  whose  age  and  honour 
Both  suffer  under  this  complaint  we  bring, 
And  both  shall  cease,  without  your  remedy. 

King.  Come  hither,  count ;   do  you  know  these  women  ? 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  neither  can  nor  will  deny 

But  that  I  know  them :   do  they  charge  me  further  ? 

Dia.  Why  do  you  look  so  strange  upon  your  wife? 

Ber.  She  's  none  of  mine,  my  lord. 

Dia.  If  you  shall  marry, 

You  give  away  this  hand,  and  that  is  mine ;  170 

You  give  away  heaven's  vows,  and  those  are  mine ; 
You  give  away  myself,  which  is  known  mine ; 
For  I  by  vow  am  so  embodied  yours, 
.  That  she  which  marries  you  must  marry  me, 
Either  both  or  none. 

Laf.  Your  reputation  comes  too  short  for  my  daugh- 
ter;  you  are  no  husband  for  her. 

120 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  iii. 

Ber,  My  lord,  this  is  a  fond  and  desperate  creature, 

Whom  sometime  I  have  laugh'd  with:   let  your 
highness 

Lay  a  more  noble  thought  upon  mine  honour         i8o 

Than  for  to  think  that  I  would  sink  it  here. 
King.  Sir,  for  my  thoughts,  you  have  them  ill  to  friend 

Till  your  deeds  gain  them :  fairer  prove  your  honour 

Than  in  my  thought  it  lies. 
Dia.  Good  my  lord, 

Ask  him  upon  his  oath,  if  he  does  think 

He  had  not  my  virginity. 
King.  What  say'st  thou  to  her  ? 
Ber.  She  's  impudent,  my  lord. 

And  was  a  common  gamester  to  the  camp. 
Dia.  He  does  me  wrong,  my  lord ;  if  I  were  so. 

He  might  have  bought  me  at  a  common  price :     190 

Do  not  believe  him.     O,  behold  this  ring, 

Whose  High  respect  and  rich  validity 

Did  lack  a  parallel ;  yet  for  all  that 

He  gave  it  to  a  commoner  o'  the  camp, 

If  I  be  one. 
Count.  He  blushes,  and  'tis  hit : 

Of  six  preceding  ancestors,  that  gem, 

Conferr'd  by  testament  to  the  sequent  issue. 

Hath  it  been  owed  and  worn.    This  is  his  wife ; 

That  ring  's  a  thousand  proofs. 
King.  Methought  you  said 

You  saw  one  here  in  court  could  witness  it.  200 

Dia.  I  did,  my  lord,  but  loath  am  to  produce 

So  bad  an  instrument :   his  name  's  ParoUes. 
Laf.  I  saw  the  man  to-day,  if  man  he  be. 
King.  Find  him,  and  bring  him  hither. 

.  [Exit  an  Attendant. 

121 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  *S  WELL 

Ber.  What  of  him  ? 

He  's  quoted  for  a  most  perfidious  slave, 
With  all  the  spots  o'  the  world  tax'd  and  debosh'd  ; 
Whose  nature  sickens  but  to  speak  a  truth. 
Am  I  or  that  or  this  for  what  he  '11  utter, 
That  will  speak  any  thing  ? 

King.  She  hath  that  ring  of  yours. 

Ber.  I  think  she  has  :   certain  it  is  I  liked  her,  210 

And  boarded  her  i'  the  wanton  way  of  youth : 
She  knew  her  distance,  and  did  angle  for  me, 
Madding  my  eagerness  with  her  restraint. 
As  all  impediments  in  fancy's  course 
Are  motives  of  more  fancy ;  and,  in  fine, 
Her  infinite  cunning,  with  her  modern  grace. 
Subdued  me  to  her  rate :   she  got  the  ring ; 
And  I  had  that  which  any  inferior  might 
At  market-price  have  bought. 

Dia.  I  must  be  patient : 

You,  that  have  turn'd  off  a  first  so  noble  wife,        220 

May  justly  diet  it.     I  pray  you  yet, 

Since  you  lack  virtue  I  will  lose  a  husband, 

Send  for  your  ring,  I  will  return  it  home, 

And  give  me  mine  again. 

Ber.  I  have  it  not. 

King.  What  ring  was  yours,  I  pray  you? 

Dia.  Sir,  much  like 

The  same  upon  your  finger. 

King.  Know  you  this  ring  ?  this  ring  was  his  of  late. 

Dia.  And  this  was  it  I  gave  him,  being  abed. 

King.  The  story  then  goes  false,  you  threw  it  him 
Out  of  a  casement. 

Dia.  I  have  spoke  the  truth.  230 

122 


JHAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  iii. 

Enter  Parolles. 

Ber.  My  lord,  I  do  confess  the  ring  was  hers. 

King.  You  boggle  shrewdly,  every  feather  starts  you. 
Is  this  the  man  you  speak  of? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  lord. 

King.  Tell  me,  sirrah,  but  tell  me  true,  I  charge  you, 
Not  fearing  the  displeasure  of  your  master, 
Which  on  your  just  proceeding  I  '11  keep  off. 
By  him  and  by  this  woman  here  what  know  you  ? 

Par.  So  please  your  majesty,  my  master  hath  been 
an  honourable  gentleman :  tricks  he  hath  had  in 
him,  which  gentlemen  have.  240 

King.  Come,  come,  to  the  purpose :  did  he  love  this 
woman  ? 

Par.  Faith,  sir,  he  did  love  her ;  but  how  ? 

King.  How,  I  pray  you? 

Par.  He  did  love  her,  sir,  as  a  gentleman  loves  a 
woman. 

King.  How  is  that  ? 

Par.  He  loved  her,  sir,  and  loved  her  not. 

King.  As  thou  art  a  knave,  and  no  knave.     What  an 

equivocal  companion  is  this !  250 

Par.  I  am  a  poor  man, and  at  your  majesty's  command. 

Laf.  He  's  a  good  drum,  my  lord,  but  a  naughty  orator. 

Dia.  Do  you  know  he  promised  me  marriage? 

Par.  Faith,  I  know  more  than  I  '11  speak. 

King.  But  wilt  thou  not  speak  all  thou  knowest  ? 

Par.  Yes,  so  please  your  majesty.     I  did  go  between 

them,  as  I  said;    but  more  than  that,  he  loved 

her :   for  indeed  he  was  mad  for  her,  and  talked 

of  Satan,  and  of  Limbo,  and  of  Furies,  and  I 

123 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL 'S  WELL 

know  not  what :    yet  I  was  In  that  credit  with  260 
them  at  that  time,  that  I  knew  of  their  going  to 
bed,  and  of  other  motions,  as  promising  her  mar- 
riage, and  things  which  would  derive  me  ill-will 
to  speak  of ;  therefore  I  will  not  speak  what  I  know. 

King.    Thou  hast  spoken  all  already,  unless  thou  canst 
say  they  are  married  :  but  thou  art  too  fine  in  thy 
evidence ;   therefore  stand  aside. 
This  ring,  you  say,  was  yours  ? 

Dia.  Ay,  my  good  lord. 

King.  Where  did  you  buy  it  ?  or  who  gave  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  given  me,  nor  I  did  not  buy  it.         '     270 

King.  Who  lent  it  you  ? 

Dia.  It  was  not  lent  me  neither. 

King.  Where  did  you  find  it  then? 

Dia.  I  found  it  not. 

King.  If  it  were  yours  by  none  of  all  these  ways, 
How  could  you  give  it  him? 

Dia.  I  never  gave  it  him. 

Laf.  This  woman  's  an  easy  glove,  my  lord ;  she  goes 
off  and  on  at  pleasure. 

King.  This  ring  was  mine ;  I  gave  it  his  first  wife. 

Dia.  It  might  be  yours  or  hers,  for  aught  I  know. 

King.  Take  her  away ;   I  do  not  like  her  now ; 

To  prison  with  her:   and  away  with  him.  280 

Unless  thou  tell'st  me  where  thou  hadst  this  ring, 
Thou  diest  within  this  hour. 

Dia.  I  '11  never  tell  you. 

King.  Take  her  away. 

Dia.  I  '11  put  in  bail,  my  liege. 

King.  I  think  thee  now  some  common  customer. 

Dia.  By  Jove,  if  ever  I  knew  man,  'twas  you. 

124 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Act  V.  Sc.  iii. 

King.  Wherefore  hast  thou  accused  him  all  this  while  ? 

Dia.  Because  he  's  guilty,  and  he  is  not  guilty : 

He  knows  I  am  no  maid,  and  he  '11  swear  to  't ; 

I  '11  swear  I  am  a  maid,  and  he  knows  not. 

Great  king,  I  am  no  strumpet,  by  my  life ;  290 

I  am  either  maid,  or  else  this  old  man's  wife. 

King.  She  does  abuse  our  ears  :  to  prison  with  her. 

Dia.  Good  mother,  fetch  my  bail.     Stay,  royal  sir  : 

[Exit  Widow. 
The  jeweller  that  owes  the  ring  is  sent  for. 
And  he  shall  surety  me.     But  for  this  lord. 
Who  hath  abused  me,  as  he  knows  himself, 
Though  yet  he  never  harm'd  me,  here  I  quit  him  : 
He  knows  himself  my  bed  he  hath  defiled ; 
And"  at  that  time  he  got  his  wife  with  child : 
Dead  though  she  be,  she  feels  her  young  one  kick  :  300 
So  there  's  my  riddle, — One  that 's  dead  is  quick : 
And  now  behold  the  meaning. 

Re-enter  Widow,  with  Helena. 

King.  Is  there  no  exorcist 

Beguiles  the  truer  office  of  mine  eyes  ? 
Is  't  real  that  I  see  ? 

Hel.  No,  my  good  lord  ; 

'Tis  but  the  shadow  of  a  wife  you  see, 
The  name  and  not  the  thing. 

Bcr.  Both,  both.     O,  pardon ! 

Hel.  O  my  good  lord,  when  I  was  like  this  maid, 

I  found  you  wondrous  kind.     There  is  your  ring ; 
And,  look  you,  here  's  your  letter ;  this  it  says  : 
'  When  from  my  finger  you  can  get  this  ring         310 
And  are  by  me  with  child,'  &c.     This  is  done : 

125 


Act  V.  Sc.  iii.  ALL  'S  WELL 

Will  you  be  mine,  now  you  are  doubly  won  ? 
Ber.  If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this  clearly, 

I  '11  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly. 
Hel.  If  it  appear  not  plain  and  prove  untrue, 

Deadly  divorce  step  between  me  and  you ! 

0  my  dear  mother,  do  I  see  you  living  ? 
Laf.  Mine  eyes  smell  onions  ;   I  shall  weep  anon  : 

[To  Parolles]   Good  Tom  Drum,  lend  me  a  hand- 
kercher:  so, 

1  thank  thee :  wait  on  me  home,  I  '11  make  sport  with 

thee :  320 

Let  thy  courtesies  alone,  they  are  scurvy  ones. 
King.  Let  us  from  point  to  point  this  story  know. 
To  make  the  even  truth  in  pleasure  flow. 
[To  Diana]  If  thou  be'st  yet  a  fresh  uncropped  flower, 
Choose  thou  thy  husband,  and  I  '11  pay  thy  dower ; 
For  I  can  guess  that  by  thy  honest  aid 
Thou  kept'st  a  wife  herself,  thyself  a  maid. 
Of  that  and  all  the  progress,  more  and  less. 
Resolvedly  more  leisure  shall  express : 
All  yet  seems  well ;  and  if  it  end  so  meet,  330 

The  bitter  past,  more  welcome  is  the  sweet. 

[Flourish, 

EPILOGUE. 

King.  The  king  's  a  beggar,  now  the  play  is  done : 
All  is  well  ended,  if  this  suit  be  won. 
That  you  express  content ;  which  we  will  pay, 
With  strife  to  please  you,  day  exceeding  day : 
Ours  be  your  patience  then,  and  yours  our  parts  ; 
Your  gentle  hands  lend  us,  and  take  our  hearts. 

[Exeunt. 


126 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary, 


A  =  one;  I.  iii.  243. 
About;  "go  not  about,"  "do  not 
beat  about  the  bush";  I.  iii. 

193- 

Accordingly,  equally;  II.  v.  8. 

Across;  "break  across,"  a  term 
used  in  tilting;  here  used  for 
a  passage  at  arms  of  wit;  II. 
i.  70.  ^ 

Act,  action;  I.  ii.  31. 

Admiration,  that  which  excites 
admiration;  II.  i.  91. 

Adoptions;  "a.  Christen- 
doms "  =  "  adopted  christian 
names  ";  I.  i.  183. 

Advertisement,  advice ;  IV.  iii. 
225. 

Advice,  discretion ;  III.  iv.  19. 

Alone;  "  alone  must  think," 
must  only  think ;  I.  i.  194. 

Ample,  amply;  III.  v.  46. 

Anatomised,  laid  open,  shown 
up ;  IV.  iii.  35. 

Antiquity,  old  age;  II.  iii.  212. 

Appeach'd  =  impeached,  in- 
formed against  (you)  ;  I.  iii. 
196. 

Applications,  attempts  at  heal- 
ing; I.  ii.  75. 

Apprehensive,  "  ruled  by  imagi- 
nations and  caprices,"  fantas- 
tic; I.  ii.  61. 

Approof;  "  so  in  a.  lives  not  his 
epitaph    as     in    your    royal 


speech  "  =  "  his  epitaph  re- 
ceives by  nothing  such  con- 
firmation and  living  truth  as 
by  your  speech  "  ;  I.  ii.  52 ; 
"  valiant  a."  =  approved  val- 
our; II.  V.  2. 

Approved,  proved;  I.  ii.  11. 

Araise,  raise  from  the  dead ;  II. 
i.  79. 

Armipotent,  omnipotent;  IV. 
iii.  250. 

Artists;  "  relinquished  of  the 
artists,"  i.  e.  given  up,  de- 
spaired of  by  learned  doc- 
tors; II.  iii.  10. 

Attempt,  venture;  I.  iii.  259. 

Attends,  awaits;  II.  iii.  52. 

Authentic,  of  acknowledged 
authority ;  II.  iii.  12. 

Avails,  advantage,  promotion; 
III.  i.  22. 

Band  =  hond;  IV.  ii.  56. 
Barber's  chair;  "  like  a  b.  c." ; 

a       proverbial        expression 

(found    in    Ray's    Proverbs, 

etc.)  ;  II.  ii.  17. 
Baring,  shaving;  IV.  i.  54. 
Barnes  (the  reading  of  Folio  i ; 

the  other  Folios  "  beams  "  or 

"barns"),  children;  I.  in.  28. 
Bauble,     the     fool's     rod,     the 

badge  of  his  office ;  IV.  v.  32. 

(Q.illustrationonnext  page.) 


127 


Glossary 


ALL 'S  WELL 


(a)  From  MS.  6829,  National  Library,  Paris. 

(d)  and  (c)  From  ivory  carvings  in  the  Maskell  collection  and  in  the  Louvre. 


Be;  "to  be"  =  to  be  called;  I. 

ii.  60. 
Bestow,  guard,  treasure  up ;  I. 

iii.  230. 
Better  =  men     your     superior; 

III.  i.  22. 
Big,  haughty ;  I.  iii.  98. 
Blaze     (Theobald's    conjecture 

for  "blade"  of  the  Folios), 

heat,  fire ;  V.  iii.  6. 
Blood,    nature,    disposition ;    I. 

iii.  136;  passion;  III.  vii.  21. 
Boarded,  wooed;  V.  iii.  211. 
Bold,  assured ;  V.  i.  5. 
Bond,   duty,   obligation ;    I,    iii. 

193- 
Both;  " both  our  mothers,"  the 

mother  of  us  both ;  I.  iii.  168. 
Braid,  deceitful;  IV.  ii.  73. 
Braving,  defiant;  I.  ii.  3. 
Breaking,  breaking  up,  disband- 
ing; IV.  iv.  II. 
Breathe,  take  exercise;   II.  iii. 

261. 
Breathing,  exercise,   action;    I. 

ii.  18. 


Brief;  "  now-born  br.,"  i.e.  the 
contract  recently  made " 
(Warburton,  "  new-born  ")  ; 
II.   iii.    181. 

Bring  =  take;  III.  v.  96. 

Broken;  "my  mouth  no  more 
were  broken."  had  not  lost 
its  teeth;  II.  iii.  61. 

Brokes,  uses  as  a  medium;  III, 
V.  73- 

Brought  (?),  "brought  with 
him  "  (changed  by  Theobald 
to  "bought")  ;  II.  i.  65. 

Bunting,  a  bird  resembling  a 
lark  in  every  particular,  but 
with  little  or  no  song;  II.  v. 
6. 

Buttock;  "pin  b.,  quatch  b., 
brawn  b."  =  thin  b.,  flat  b., 
fleshy  b. ;  II.  ii.  18. 

By,  pass  by  (Warburton  sup- 
poses a  line  to  be  lost 
after  "past")  ;  II.  iii.  236. 

Canary,  "  a  quick  and  lively 
dance  " ;  II.  i.  77. 


128 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary 


"  Can  't  no  other''  can  it  be  no 
other  way;  I.  iii.  170. 

Capable  of,  apt  to  receive  the 
impress  of,  susceptible ;  I.  i. 
102;  I.  i.  218. 

Cap  of  the  time;  "they  wear 
themselves  in  the  c."  = 
"they  are  the  very  orna- 
ments of  the  time";  II.  i.  55. 

Capriccio,  caprice,  whim;  II.  iii. 

299- 
Captions,  "  recipient,  capable  of 

receiving  what  is  put  into  it " 

(Malone)  ;     others     suggest 

"  cap'cious  "  or  "  capacious," 

or  =  Latin     "  captiosus,"    i.e. 

deceitful  or  fallacious;  I.  iii. 

207. 
Carbonadoed,    cut    across,    like 

meat  for  broiling;  IV.  v.  105. 
Case,  flay,    skin ;    strip   off  his 

disguise;  III.  vi.  107. 
Catch' d,   caught,   perceived;    I. 

iii.  175. 
Ccsse  (the  reading  of  Folio  i ; 

Folio    2,     ceasse;     Folio     3, 

ccass),  cease;  V.  iii.  72. 
Champion,  knight   who  fought 

for  a  person  ;  IV.  ii.  50. 
Change,    interchange ;    III.    ii. 

100. 
Chape,  "  the  metallic  part  at  the 

end   of   the    scabbard " ;    IV. 

iii.  154. 
Charge,  cost;  II.  iii.  116. 


Choice;  "most  rich  c,"  choicest 

treasure;  III.  vii.  26. 
Choughs   language,  chattering; 

IV.  i.  22. 
Cites,  proves;  I.  iii.  215. 
Clew,  a  ball  of  thread;   I.  iii. 

187. 
Coil,   ado,    fuss ;    "  kept   a   coil 

with,"  made  a  fuss  about ;  II. 

i.  27. 
Collateral,  indirect;  I.  i.  95. 
Colour;  "  holds  not  c,"  is  not 

in  keeping;  II.  v.  61. 
Commission,    warrant;    II.    iii. 

268. 
Commoner,  harlot;  V.  iii.   194. 
Companion,  fellow    (used  con- 
temptuously) ;  V.  iii.  250. 
Company,   companion ;    IV.   iii. 

Composition,  compact;  IV.  iii. 

20. 
Conipt,  account;  V.  iii.  57. 
Condition,    character;    IV.    iii. 

184. 
Congied  with,  taken  my  leave 

of ;  IV.  iii.  92. 
Consolate,  console;  III.  ii.  131. 
Convenience,  propriety;  III.  ii. 

75. 
Conversation,    intercourse ;     I. 

iii.  239. 
Coragio,  courage ;  II.  v.  94. 
Coranto,  a  quick,  lively  dance; 

II.  iii.  44. 


Courante  or  Goranto 

The  movements  are — 

I,  2,  simple  gauche ;  3,  4,  simple  droit ;  and  5-8,  a  "  double  ^  gauche. 

From  Naylor's  Shakespeare  and  Music. 

129 


Glossary 


ALL  'S  WELL 


Corrupt,  misquote ;  I.  iii.  83. 

Count  of,  take  c.  of ;  IV.  iii.  243- 

County,  Count ;  III.  vii.  22. 

"  Cox  my  passion,"  a  corrup- 
tion of  "  God  's  my  passion  !  " 
V.  ii.  41- 

Credence,  trust;  III.  iii.  2. 

Cressid's  uncle,  i.e.  Pandarus ; 
III.  i.  100. 

Crown;  "French  c." ;  bald 
head;  II.  ii.  22. 

Crown;  "the  fine's  the  c"; 
probably  a  translation  of  the 
Latin  proverb,  "Finis  coro- 
nat  opus" ;  IV.  iv.  35. 

Curd,  curdle;  I.  iii.  I54- 

Curious,  careful;  I.  ii.  21. 

Curiously,  carefully ;  IV.  iii.  2)7- 

Custard;  "  Like  him  that  leaped 
into  the  custard,"  an  allusion 
to  the  custom  at  City  ban- 
quets for  the  City  fool  to 
leap  into  a  large  bowl  of  cus- 
tard set  for  the  purpose;  II. 
V.  38. 

Customer,  harlot;  V.  iii.  284. 

Darkly,  secretly;  IV.  iii.  11. 

Deadly  (used  adverbially)  ;  V. 
iii.  117. 

Death;  "  the  white  d.,"  the  pale- 
ness of  death ;  II.  iii.  72. 

Debate  it,  strive  for  the  mas- 
tery; I.  ii.  76. 

D£'&o.y/i'cf  =  debauched,  pervert- 
ed; II.  iii.  140. 

Default,  at  need ;  II.  iii.  232. 

D^/jV^ranc^  =  delivery ;  II.  i.  85. 

Delivers,  tells ;  IV.  iii.  164. 

Dial,  clock,  watch;  II.  v.  5. 

Diet,  to  prescribe  a  regimen  or 
scanty  diet   (hence  "  to  deny 


me  the  full  rights  of  wife  ")  ; 
V.  iii.  221 ;  "  he  is  dieted  to 
his  hour,"  i.e.  "  the  hour  of 
his  appointment  is  fixed " ; 
IV.  iii.  32. 

Digested,  absorbed  ;  V.  iii.  74. 

Dilated,  prolonged,  detailed ; 
IL  i.  59. 

Dilemmas,  perplexing  situa- 
tions; III.  vi.  77. 

Distinction;  *' confound  d.," 
make  it  impossible  to  distin- 
guish them  one  from  the 
other;  II.  iii.  122. 

Diurnal;  "  d.  ring,"  daily  cir- 
cuit;  II.  i.  165. 

Dole,  portion,  share;  II.  iii.  171. 

Dolphin,  possibly  used  with  a 
quibbling  allusion  to  Dolphin 
=  Dauphin  ;  but  perhaps  only 
"the  sportive,  lively  fish"  is 
alluded  to;  II.  iii.  26. 


From  the  Hortus  Sanitatis  (ed.  1536). 

Ears,  ploughs,  cultivates ;  I.  iii. 

46. 
Embossed,  inclosed  (like  game 

in  a  wood)  ;  a  term  used  in 

hunting;  III.  vi.  103. 


130 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary 


Emhoix'cird,   exhausted;    I.   iii. 

246. 
Encounter,  meeting;  III.  vii.  32. 
Entertainment,     service,     pay; 

III.  vi.  12;  IV.  i.  17. 
Entrenched,  cut;  II.  i.  45. 
Estate,  rank,  social  grade;  III. 

vii.  4. 
Estates,  ranks,  social  status ;  I. 

iii.  116. 
Esteem,h.\gh.  estimation,  worth; 

V.  iii.  I. 
Estimate;  "in  thee  hath  e.,"  is 

enjoyed  by  thee;  II.  i.  183. 
Even,    act    up    to ;    I.    iii.    3 ; 

"  make  it  e.,"  grant  it ;  II.  i. 

194;  full;  V.  iii.  323. 
Examined,  questioned;   III.  v. 

Exorcist,  one  who  raises  spir- 
its ;  V.  iii.  302. 

Expedient,  (?)  expeditious, 
quick;  II.  iii.  181. 

Expressive,  open-hearted;  II.  i. 
54. 

Facinerious,  Parolles'  blunder 
for  "  facinorous  "  ;  II.  iii.  30. 

Faith,  religious  faith;  IV.  i.  80. 

Falls,  befalls;  V.  i.  ZJ- 

Fancy,  liking,  love;  II.  iii.  170. 

Fated,  fateful ;  I.  i.  227. 

Favour,  face,  figure,  counte- 
nance ;  I.  i.  90 ;  V.  iii.  49. 

Fed;  "  highly  fed,"  used  quib- 
blingly  in  double  sense;  (i) 
well  fed,  and  (2)  well  bred; 
perhaps  also  with  an  allusion 
to  the  proverb  "  better  fed 
than  taught " ;  II.  ii.  3. 

Fee-simple,  unconditional  pos- 
session ;  IV.  iii.  295. 


Fetch  off,  rescue ;  III.  vi.  19. 
Fine;     "  in    fine  "  =  in     short ; 

III.  vii.  Z2>' 
Fine,  artful ;  V.  iii.  266. 
Fisnomy,   the    clown's    corrup- 
tion of  "  physiognomy  " ;  IV. 

V.  41. 
Fleshes,  satiates;  IV.  iii.  17. 
Fond;  "  fond  done,  done  fond," 

done  foolishly,  done  fondly ; 

I.  iii.  75;  foolish;  V.  iii.  178. 
Fondness,  love;  I.  iii.  175. 
For  =  because  ;  III.  v.  44. 
Foregone,  gone  before,  past;  I. 

iii.  139. 
Found  ^'ionnd.     out;     II.     iii. 

208;  II.  iv.  31. 
Frank,  liberal,  generous;  I.  ii. 

21. 

Gamester,  harlot;  V.  iii.  188. 
Garter;  "  g.  up  thy  arms  " ;  II. 

iii.  255.      (Cp.  the  following 

illustration.) 


From  a  painting  (early  XVIIth  Cent). 
The  engraving  represents  a  servant 
in  attendance  at  table,  whose  sleeves 
are  gartered  up  and  tucked  in  his 
girdle  out  of  the  way. 

Grace,  favour ;  V.  ii.  50. 


131 


Glossary 


ALL  'S  WELL 


Gossips,     stands     gossip,      i.e. 

sponsor  for;  I.  i.  184. 
Go  under,  pass  for;  III.  v.  21. 
Gross,  palpable ;  I.  iii.  177. 

Haggish,  ugly  and  wrinkled, 
like  a  hag;  I.  ii.  30. 

Hand;  "  in  any  h.,"  in  any  case ; 
III.  vi.  44. 

Haply,  perhaps;  III.  ii.  79. 

Happy;  "  in  h.  time,"  i.e.  "  in 
the  nick  of  time";  V.  i.  6. 

Hawking,  hawk-like;  I.  i.  loi. 

Helm  =  helmet;  III.  iii.  7. 

Heraldry;  "gives  j'-ou  h.,"  en- 
titles you  to ;  II.  iii.  268. 

Herb  of  grace,  i.e.  rue;  IV.  v. 
18. 

"Hie  jacet,"  the  beginning  of 
an  epitaph  meaning  "  here 
lies,"  die  in  the  attempt ;  III. 
vi.  64. 

High  bent  (a  metaphor  taken 
from  the  bending  of  a  bow)  ; 
V.  iii.  10. 

Higher,  further  up  (into 
Italy)  ;  IV.  iii.  45. 

High-repented,  deeply  repent- 
ed; V.  iii.  ^6. 

Hilding,  a  base  wretch;  III.  vi. 
3. 

His,  its ;  I.  ii.  42. 

Hold,  maintain ;  I.  i.  84. 

Holding,  blinding  force;  IV.  ii. 
27. 

Home,  thoroughly ;  V.  iii.  4. 

Honesty,  chastity;  III.  v.  64. 

Hoodman  (an  allusion  to  the 
game  of  "  hood-man  blind," 
or  "  Blindmanbuff  ")  ;  IV.  iii. 
127. 

Host,  lodge;  III.  v.  96. 


Housewife;  "  I  play  the  noble 
h.  with  the  time,"  spoken 
ironically;  II.  ii.  61. 

Howsome'er  (Folios  i  and  2, 
"  howsomere  "  ;  Folio  3, 
"  howsomeere  "  ;  Folio  4, 
"  howsomere"  ) ,     howsoever ; 

I.  iii.  56. 

Idle,    foolish,    reckless ;    II.    v. 

51 ;  III.  vii.  26. 
Important,     importunate;     III. 

vii.  21. 
Importing,   full   of  import ;   V. 

iii.  136. 
Impositions,    things     imposed; 

commands ;  IV.  iv.  29. 
In,  into ;  V.  ii.  48. 

;  "  to  in,"  to  get  in  ;  I.  iii.  47. 

Inaidable,    cureless,    incurable; 

II.  i.  122. 

Inducement,  instigation;  III.  ii. 
91. 

Instance,  proof ;  IV.  i.  45. 

Intenible,  incapable  of  holding 
or  retaining;  I.  iii.  207. 

Intents,  intentions ;  III.  iv.  21. 

Into  (so  Folios  i,  2  ;  Folios  3,  4, 
"unto"),  upon;  I.  iii.  259. 

Isbels,  waiting  women  gener- 
ally; III.  ii.  13,  14. 

Jack-an-apcs,  ape,  monkey; 
used  as  a  term  of  contempt; 

III.  V.  87. 

I  Old,  knock ;  I.  iii.  57. 
lustified,  proved ;  IV.  iii.  58. 

Kicky-wicky,  "  a  ludicrous 
term  for  a  wife  "  ;  II.  iii.  286, 

Kind,  nature ;  I.  iii.  66 ;  I.  iii. 
184. 


132 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary 


Knozvingly,  from  experience; 
I.  iii.  255. 

Lack,  want,  need;  III.  iv.  19. 

Langnishings,  lingering  mal- 
ady; I.  iii.  234. 

Last,  last  time;  V.  iii.  79. 

Late,  lately ;  I.  iii.  109. 

Leaguer,  camp  of  besieging 
army;  III.  vi.  26. 

Led,  carried ;  "  Has  led  the 
drum  before  the  English 
tragedians  "  ;  alluding  to  the 
strolling  players  who  were 
wont  to  announce  their  ad- 
vent by  a  drum ;  IV.  iii.  282. 
(See  Notes.) 

Left  off,  abandoned;  I.  iii.  246. 

Leg;  "  make  a  leg,"  make  a 
bow;  II.  ii.  10. 

Lend  it,  give  love;  I.  ii.  69. 

Lie,  lodge;  III.  v.  32. 

Ling,  a  fish  eaten  during  Lent ; 
here  used  in  the  general 
sense  of  meagre  food ;  III.  ii. 

14  15. 

Linsey-woolsey,  literally  a  fab- 
ric of  wool  and  linen ;  here  a 
medley  of  words ;  IV.  i.  13. 

List,  limit ;  II.  i.  53. 

Live,  to  live ;  II.  i.  134. 

Livelihood,  liveliness,  anima- 
tion; I.  i.  55. 

'Longing  (Folios  correctly 
"longing"),  belonging;  IV. 
ii.  42. 

Lordship,  conjugal  right  and 
duty;  V.  iii.  156. 

Lustig,  lusty,  sprightly ;  II.  iii. 
42. 

Madding,  maddening;  V.  iii. 
213. 


Make,  look  upon  as ;  V.  iii.  5. 

Manifest,  acknowledged,  well- 
known  ;  I.  iii.  228. 

Married.  ..marr'd;  pronounced 
much  alike  in  Elizabethan 
English;  hence  used  quib- 
blingly;  II.  iii.  304. 

Marseilles  (trisyllabic;  Folio  i 
spells  the  name  "  Marcellae," 

IV.  iv.  9;  "Marcellus,"  IV. 
V.85). 

Maudlin,    colloquial     form     of 

Magdalen;  V.  iii.  68. 
Measure,  dance;  II.  i.  58. 
Medicine,  physician ;  II.  i.  75. 
Mell,  meddle;  IV.  iii.  242. 
Alere,  merely,  nothing  but;  III. 

V.  57. 

Merely,  absolutely;  IV.  iii.  23. 

Methinks't,  it  seems  to  me;  II. 
iii.  259. 

Mile-end;  alluding  to  the  fact 
that  the  citizens  of  London 
used  to  be  mustered  and 
drilled  there;   IV.   iii.  286. 

Misdoubt,  mistrust ;   I.  iii.  129. 

Misprising,    despising;    III.    ii. 

Misprision,  contempt;  II.  iii. 
154. 

Modern,  common ;  II.  iii.  2. 

("modest"      has      been 

suggested  as  an  emendation), 
modish,  stylish  (rather  than 
"ordinary"  "  common- 
place ")  ;  V.  iii.  216. 

Modest;  "  a  m.  one/'  i.e.  "  a 
moderately  favourable  one  "  ; 

n.  i.  131. 

Module,  pattern,  model ;  IV.  iii. 

105. 
Moiety,  part,  share;  III.  ii.  69. 


133 


Glossary 


ALL'S  WELL 


Monstrous,  monstrously ;  IT.  i. 
187. 

Monumental  memorial;  IV.  iii. 
18. 

Morris,  Morris-dance;  II.  ii.  24. 
(See  Naylor's  Shakespeare 
and  Music,  p.  205,  and  illus- 
tration at  end  of  Notes.) 

" Mort  du  vinaigre"  (Folios 
"mor  du  vinager"),  a  mean- 
ingless oath  used  by  Parol- 
les;  II.  iii.  45. 

Motive,  instrument ;  IV.  iv.  20. 

Murk,  murky;  II.  i.  166. 

Muse,  wonder,  conjecture;  II. 
V.  67. 

Mute;  "  all  the  rest  is  mute,"  I 
have  no  more  to  say  to  you ; 
II.  iii.  78. 

Mystery,  professional  skill ;  III. 
vi.  66. 

Nature,    temperament ;    III.    i. 

17;  way;  IV.  iii.  163. 
Naughty,  good  for  nothing;  V. 

iii.  252. 
Necessitated  to,  in  need  of;  V. 

iii.  85. 
Next,  nearest;  I.  iii.  62. 
Nice,  prudish  ;  V.  i.  15. 
Note,      mark      of      distinction, 

record ;  I.  iii.  162. 

Of,  by;  I.  iii.  202;  V.  iii.  196; 

on;  II.  iii.  243;  III.  v.  102. 
OMced   all,   performed    all    the 

duties  or  offices ;  III.  ii.  129. 
Of  them,  some  of  that  kind ;  II. 

V.  47. 

"  O  Lord,  sir!  "  An  exclamation 
much  used  in  fashionable  so- 
ciety in  Shakespeare's  time; 
II.  ii.  43- 


On,  of;  I.  iii.  141. 

Order,   precautions,   measures ; 

IV.  ii.  55. 

Ordinaries,  meals,  repasts ;  II. 
iii.  203. 

Out,  over ;  I.  ii.  59. 

Outzvard,  not  in  the  secret,  un- 
initiated; III.  i.   II. 

Overlooking,  supervision ;  I,  i. 
42. 

Ozve,  own,  II.  v.  81 ;  owes, 
owns.  II.  i.  9;  owed,  owned, 

V.  iii.  198. 

Pace;     "a     certain     and    pre- 
scribed walk  "  ;  IV.  v.  70. 
Palmers,  pilgrims;  III.  v.  36. 


From  a  jet  figure  of  St.  Jaques  in  the 
Museum  of  Mr.  C.  Roach  Smith,  The 
saint  is  dressed  as  a  pilgjiixi,  with 
staff,  book  and  gourd-bottle. 

Particular,  part;  II.  v.  6z. 

Parting;  "present  p."  immedi- 
ate departure ;  II.  v.  58. 

Passage,  anything  that  passes, 
or  occurs ;  an  event ;  I.  i.  20. 

Passport,  sentence  to  death; 
III.  ii,  58. 


134 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary 


Patience;  "ours  be  your  p.,"  let 
your  patient  hearing  be  ours ; 
Epil.  33(i- 

Perspective,  "  a  glass  so  cut  as 
to  produce  an  optical  decep- 
tion " ;  V.  iii.  48. 

Picking;  "  p.  a  kernel  out  of  a 
pomegranate  "  ;  stealing  the 
most  trifling  article;  II.  iii. 
265. 

Pilot's  glass,  hour  glass;  II.  i. 
168. 

Place,  precedence;  I.  i.  no. 

Plausive,  plausible,  pleasing;  I. 

ii.  54- 
Please  it,  if  it  please ;  III.  v.  99. 

Plutus  (Rowe's  correction  of 
"  Platus,"  the  reading  of  the 
Folios),  the  god  of  wealth; 
V.  iii.  loi. 

Poising  us,  adding  the  weight 
of  our  patronage;  II.  iii.  156. 

Port,  gate;  III.  v.  37- 

Practiser,  practitioner;  II.  i. 
188. 


Present,  immediate;  II.  ii.  65. 

Presently,  immediately,  at 
once;  II.  iii.  161. 

Prime,  flower  of  life ;  II.  i.  185. 

Probable  need,  apparently  nec- 
essary ;  II.  iv.  50. 

Proceeds,  results ;  IV.  ii.  62. 

Profession,  that  which  she  pro- 
fesses to  be  able  to  do ;  II.  i. 
86. 

Proper,  used  to  emphasize 
own;  IV.  ii.  49. 

Proper,  virtuous ;  IV.  iii.  225. 

Property,  "  that  which  is  proper 
to,"  "  particular  quality  "  ;  II. 
i.  190. 

Quart  d'ecu  (the  Folios  "  car- 
~^  decue,"  V.  ii.  35 ;  Folio  i, 
"  cardceu,"  Folios  2,  3,  4' 
"cardecue,"  IV.  iii.  239;  the 
Folio  spellings  represent  the 
colloquial  pronunciation  of 
the  word  in  English)  ;  the 
quarter  of  a  "  French  crown  " 
=  fifteen  pence ;  V.  ii.  35. 


From  a  specimen  of  the  time  of  Charles  IX.    The  large  A  beneath  the  shield 
denotes  that  the  coin  was  minted  at  Paris. 


Predominant,  in  the  ascendant; 

I.  i.  206. 
Prejudicates,  prejudices;   I.  ii. 

9. 


Questant,    he    who    is    on    the 

quest,  seeker ;  II.  i.  16. 
Quick,  living;  V.  iii.  301- 
Quit,  acquit;  V.  iii.  297. 


135 


Glossary 


ALL  'S  WELL 


Rate,  price ;  V.  iii.  217. 
Ravin,  ravenous;  III.  ii.  120. 
Reave,  bereave,  deprive;  V.  iii. 
86. 

Rebellion;  "natural  r.,"  rebel- 
lion of  nature,  V.  iii.  6 ;  "  God 
delay  our  r.,"  i.e.  "  put  off 
the  day  when  our  flesh  shall 
rebel,"  IV.  iii.  21. 

Religions,  a  holy  obligation ;  II. 
iii.  185. 

Remainder  (a  legal  term)  = 
something  limited  over  to  a 
third  person  on  the  creation 
of  an  estate  less  than  that 
which  the  grantor  has;  IV. 
iii.  297. 

Removes,  post-stages;  V.  iii. 
13I; 

Repairs,  restores,  does  me 
good;  I.  ii.  31. 

Repeal' d,  called  back;  II.  iii. 
50. 

Repetition,  remembrance ;  V. 
iii.  22. 

Replete,  full;  II.  iii.  178. 

Resolvedly,  satisfactorily ;  V. 
iii.  329. 

Respects,  reasons ;  II.  v.  68. 

Rest;  "  set  up  your  r.,"  are  re- 
solved; II.  i.  138. 

Richest ;  "  r.  eyes,"  i.e.  eyes 
having  seen  the  most;  V.  iii. 

17- 

Ring-carrier,  go-between,  pan- 

dar ;  III.  v.  94. 
Rousillon,   an   old   province   of 

France,  separated  from  Spain 

by  the  Pyrenees ;  I.  ii.  19. 
RufF,  (?)  the  ruffle  of  the  boot 

(that  is,  the  part  turned  over 

the  top)  ;  III.  ii.  7. 


From  a  French  print,  dated  1603, 
Rush,  rush  ring;  II.  ii.  23. 


From  an  engraving  by  Fairholt. 

Ruttish,  lustful;  IV.  iii.  228. 

Sacrament;  "take  the  s.  on  it," 
take  my  oath  on  it;  IV.  iii. 
146. 

Sadness;  "  in  good  s.,"  in  all 
seriousness  ;  IV.  iii.  215. 

Saffron;  "  villanous  s.,"  allu- 
ding to  the  fashion  of  wear- 
ing yellow ;  IV.  v.  2. 

Sanctimony,    sanctity;    IV.    iii. 

53- 

Satisfaction;  "heavy  s.,"  sor- 
rowful acquiescence;  V.  iii. 
100. 

Scarfs  and  bannerets,  silken  or- 
naments hung  upon  various 
parts  of  the  attire;  II.  iii.  205. 

Schools,  medical  schools;  I.  iii. 

245- 
Season;  "a  day  of  s.."  a  sea- 
sonable day ;  V.  iii.  32. 


136 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary 


Senoys,  Sienese,  inhabitants  of 
Siena;  I.  ii.  i. 

Sense,  thought ;  I.  i.  235. 

Shall  =  vi'\\\  assuredly;  III.  ii. 
24. 

Shallow;  "  you  're  shallow  in 
great  friends,"  "  you  are  a 
superficial  judge  of  the  char- 
acter of  great  friends,";  I.  iii. 
44. 

Shrewd,  evil,  bad ;  III.  v.  70. 

Shrewdly,  highly,  badly;  III.  v. 
91. 

Shrieve's  fool,  sheriff's  (fe- 
male) fool ;  IV.  iii.  199. 


From  an  old  Flemish  picture  of 
drinking-party  (1596). 

Sick  for,  pining  for;  I.  ii.  17. 

Sinister,  left ;  II.  i.  44. 

Sith     (Folio     I    reads    "  sir " ; 

emended  by  Dyce),  since;  V. 

iii.  155. 
Sithence,  since ;  I.  iii.  123. 
Smock;    "the    forehorse    to    a 

smock,"  as  a  squire  of  ladies ; 

used   contemptuously;    II.    i. 

30- 


Smoked,  scented;  III.  vi.  iii. 
Snipt-taffeta    fellow^    a    fellow 

dressed  in  silks  and  ribbons; 

IV.  V.  I. 
Solely,    absolutely,    altogether; 

I.  i.  108. 

Solemn,  ceremonious ;  IV.  iii. 
82. 

Sovereignty;  "general  s.," 
"  sovereign  remedies  in  va- 
rious cases  "  ;  I.  iii.  229. 

Spark,  fashionable  young  man; 

II.  i.  25. 

Spend,  use,  employ;  V.  i.  8. 

Spirit  (monosyllabic  =  sprite)  ; 
II.  i.  178. 

Spoke,  spoken  ;  II.  v.  57. 

Sportive,  pleasure-giving;  III. 
ii.  109. 

Sprat,  a  worthless  fellow,  used 
contemptuously ;  III.  vi.  109. 

Staggers,  "  perplexity,  bewil- 
derment "  ;  II.  iii.  165. 

St.  Jaques  le  Grand;  probably 
St.  James  of  Compostella  in 
Spain,  though  probably 
Shakespeare  had  no  particu- 
lar shrine  of  St.  James  in 
mind ;  III.  v.  2>^. 

Stall,  keep  close  conceal ;  I.  iii. 
130. 

Star;  "  the  most  received  s.," 
leader  of  fashion ;  II.  i.  57, 

Stead,  help,  aid;  V.  iii.  87. 

Steely;  "virtue's  steely  bones," 
=  "  steel-boned,  unyielding, 
and  uncomplying  virtue  "  ;  I. 
i.  115- 

Stomach,    inclination ;    III.    vi. 

Straight,  directly,  straightway; 
IV.  i.2I. 


137 


Glossary 


ALL  'S  WELL 


Strangers,  foreign  troops ;  IV. 
i.i6. 

Stronger,  most  important;  IV. 
iii.  59- 

Subscribed  to,  "  acknowledged 
the  state  of  "  ;  V.  iii.  96. 

Success,  issue;  III.  vi.  83. 

;  "abstract  of  s.,"  suc- 
cessful summary  proceeding; 
IV.  iii.  91. 

Succession,  others  from  doing 
the  same;  III.  v.  24. 

Suggest,  tempt ;  IV.  v.  47. 

Superfluous,  having  more  than 
enough ;  I.  i.  112. 

Supposition;  "beguile  the  s.," 
deceive  the  opinion ;  set  at 
rest  the  doubt;  IV.  iii.  315. 

Surprised,  to  be  surprised;  I. 
iii.  119. 

Sword;  "  Spanish  s."  (swords 
of  Toledo  were  famous)  ;  IV. 
i.  52. 

Sworn  counsel,  pledge  of  se- 
crecy ;  III.  vii.  9. 

Table,  tablet ;  I.  i.  102. 
Tax,  reproach ;  II.  i.  173. 


Tinct,  tincture;  V.  iii.  102. 

Title,  want  of  rank;  II.  iii.  119. 

To,  for;  II.  iii.  296. 

Toll  (Folio  I  "toule"),  prob- 
ably =  "  pay  a  tax  for  the  lib- 
erty of  selling  "  ;  V.  iii.  148. 

Too  much,  excess ;  III.  ii.  92. 

Too^  =  taken;  II.  i.  150. 

Top,  head;  I.  ii.  44. 

Travails  in,  works  for;  II.  iii. 
160. 

Triple,  third;  II.  i.  iii. 

Tucket,  a  flourish  on  the  trum- 
pet;  III.  V.  7. 

Undone,  used  quibblingly;  IV. 

iii.  338. 
Unhappy,  mischievous;   IV.  v. 

66. 
Unseason'd,  inexperienced;  I.  i. 

76. 
Use,  custom ;  V.  i.  24. 
Used,  treated;  I.  ii.  43. 

Validity,  value ;  V.  iii.  192. 

Waggon,  carriage ;  IV.  iv.  34. 
(See  illustration.) 


From  the  Loutterel  Psalter  (XlVth  Cent). 


Theoric,  theory;  IV.  iii.  152. 
Thitherward,      on      his      way 

thither;  III.  ii.  55. 
Those  of  mine,  those  kinsmen 

of  mine;  I.  iii.  258. 


Wanted,    was    lacking;     I.     i. 

II. 
Ward,  guardianship ;  I.  i.  5. 
/^/a^  =  had;  III.  ii.  46. 
Wear,  wear  out;  V.  i.  4. 


138 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Glossary 


Well-enter' d,  being  well-initi- 
ated; II.  i.  6. 

Well  found,  of  known  skill;  II, 
i.  105. 

Whence,  from  that  place 
where;  III.  ii.  124. 

Whereof,    with    which ;    I.    iii. 

234. 

Which,  which  thing  {i.e.  dan- 
ger, referring  to  the  previous 
clause)  ;  II.  iii.  152. 

Whom,  which  {i.e.  death)  ;  III. 
iv.  17. 

Wing;  "  of  a  good  w.,"  a  term 
derived  from  falconry  ^ 
strong  in  flight ;  I.  i.  213. 


Woman,  make   me   weak   as   a 

woman ;  III.  ii.  53. 
Woodcock,  a  popular  name  for 

a    brainless    fellow,    a    fool ; 

IV.  i.  98. 
Word,  promise ;  i.e.  thy  word, 

or  promise;  II.  i.  213. 
World;  "to  go  to  the  world," 

=  to  get  married ;  I.  iii.  19-20. 
Worthy,  well-deserved;  IV.  iii. 

6. 
Write,  call  myself,  claim  to  be ; 

II.  iii.  200. 

Yield,  supply,  tell;  III.  i.  10. 


139 


ALL 'S  WELL 


Critical  Notes. 

BY   ISRAEL   GOLLANCZ. 

I.  i.  87,  88. 

'  These  great  tears  grace  his  remembrance  more 
Than  those  I  shed  for  him;  ' 

i.e.  "  the  big  and  copious  tears  she  then  shed  herself,  which  were 
caused  in  reaHty  by  Bertram's  departure,  though  attributed  by 
Lafeu  and  the  Countess  to  the  loss  of  her  father ;  and  from  this 
misapprehension  of  theirs  graced  his  remembrance  more  than  she 
actually  shed  for  him." 

I.  i.  156.  '  ten  year  .  .  .  ten,'  Cambridge  edition,  based  on 
Hanmer,  '  ten  years  .  .  .  ten ' ;  first  Folio,  '  ten  yeare  .  .  . 
two.' 

I.  i.  169-173.  These  lines  are  struck  out  by  some  editors;  the 
Cambridge  editors  rightly  call  them  '  a  blot  on  the  play ' ;  they 
were  probably  "'  an  interpolation,  '  to  tickle  the  ears  of  the  ground- 
lings.' "  The  opening  words  of  the  speech  which  follows  are 
obscure,  and  the  enumeration  of  '  the  loves  '  looks  like  *  the  non- 
sense of  some  foolish  conceited  player.'  Hanmer's  conjectural 
reading  has  been  inserted  in  the  text  between  brackets.  There  is 
no  stop  after  yet  in  the  Folios. 

I.  ii.  47.  'praise  he  humbled';  Staunton  conjectures,  'praise  be 
humbled' ;  Williams,  'praise  the  humbler.' 

I.  ii.  55.  *  He  scattereth  not  in  ears,  but  grafted  them ' ;  cp.  the 
Collect  in  the  Liturgy :  '  Grant,  we  beseech  thee.  Almighty  God, 
that  the  words  which  we  have  heard  this  day  with  our  outward 
ears  may  through  thy  grace  be  so  grafted  inwardly  in  our  hearts, 
that  they  may  bring  forth  the  fruit  of  good  living,'  etc. 

I.  ii,  57.  'this,'  so  the  Folio;  Pope  read  'Thus,'  possibly  the 
right  word  here. 

I.  iii.  25.  'service  is  no  heritage' ;  the  idea  seems  to  be  that,  'if 
service  is  no  blessing,  children  are  ';  Psalm  cxxvii.  3  has  been  ap- 
propriately cited  in  connection  with  this  expresson : — "  Lo,  chil- 
dren are  an  heritage  of  the  Lord."     * 

140 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Notes 


I.  iii.  55.  Young  Charhon  the  puritan  and  old  Poysam  the  papist ; 
'  Charbon  '  possibly  for  '  Chair-bonne,'  and  '  Poysam  '  for  '  Pots- 
son/  alluding  to  the  respective  lenten  fares  of  the  Puritan  and 
Papist  (cp.  the  old  French  proverb,  '  Jeune  chair  et  viel  poisson' 
=  young  flesh  and  old  fish  are  the  best). 

I.  iii.  ii8.  *.  .  .  queen  of  virgins';  Theobald  inserted  ' Dian 
no  '  before  '  queen.' 

I,  iii.  i68.  '  /  care  no  more  for  than  I  do  for  heaven ' ;  Capell, 
'I'd  care  no  more  for't'  etc. 

I.  iii.  175.  'loneliness' ',  Theobald's  correction  of  Folios,  '  loue- 
liness.' 

II.  i.  I,  2.  'lords'  .  .  .  'lords';  probably  the  young  noble- 
men are  divided  into  two  sections  according  as  they  intend  to  take 
service  with  the  '  Florentines  '  or  the  '  Senoys  '  (cp.  Note  vi.  Cam- 
bridge edition). 

II.  i.  12-15.  '  i^i  higher  Italy, — Those  bated,'  etc. ;  the  passage 
is  probably  corrupt.  'Higher  Italy'  has  been  variously  inter- 
preted to  mean  (i)  Upper  Italy;  (2)  the  side  of  Italy  next  to  the 
Adriatic  (but  both  Florence  and  Sienna  are  on  the  other  side)  ; 
(3)  Italy  higher  in  rank  and  dignity  than  France;  (4)  the  noblest 
of  Italy,  the  worthiest  among  Italians.  Johnson  paraphrased  as 
follows : — '  Let  upper  Italy,  where  you  are  to  exercise  your  valour, 
see  that  you  come  to  gain  honour,  to  the  abatement,  that  is,  to  the 
disgrace  and  depression  of  those  that  have  now  lost  their  ancient 
military  fame,  and  inherit  but  the  fall  of  the  last  monarchy.' 
Schmidt  proposed  'high'  for  'higher';  Coleridge  'hired';  Ham- 
mer 'bastards '  for  '  bated.'  Knight  took 
'  bated '  to  mean  '  excepted,'  Schmidt 
*  beaten  down.' 

II.  i.  32-3.  ''  No  szvord  worn  but  one  to 
dance  with  ' ;  alluding  to  the  light  swords 
worn  for  dancing.  (Cp.  the  accompany- 
ing drawing.) 

II.  i.  64.  '  I  'II  fee  ' ;  Theobald's  emenda- 
tion.   Folios,  '  He  see.' 

II.  i.  80-1.  '  To  give  great  Charlemain  a 
pen  in  's  hand  ' ;  Charlemagne  attempted 
late  in  life  to  learn  to  write. 

II.  i.  147.  'fits';  Folios  'shifts,'  prob- 
ably due  to  misreading  of  iHfs,  found  in  From  an  ornament  on  a 
the  margin  of  the  Ellesmere  First  Folio,  Pistol  of  Shakespeare's 
independently  suggested  by  Theobald.  coTlection.    ^      ^^"^ 


141 


Notes  ALL  *S  WELL 

II.  i.  176. 

'  ne  worse  of  ivorst  extended, 
With  vilest  torture  let  my  life  be  ended'; 
So  Folio  i;,the  other  folios  read  'no'  for  ' ne/  Malone's  'nay' 
for  'ne'  commends  itself,  though  his  explanation  of  'ex- 
tended' as  'my  body  being  extended  on  the  rack'  seems  weak: 
it  is  probably  used  here  simply  in  the  sense  of  '  meted  out  to  me/ 
or  merely  used  for  the  purpose  of  emphasizing  '  zi'orse  of  worst.' 
A  mass  of  conjectural  emendations  are  recorded  in  the  Cambridge 
edition  of  the  play. 

II.  ii.  23.  '  Tib's  rush  for  Tom's  forefinger ' ;  '  Tib  and  Tom ' 
were  used  like  '  Jack  and  Jill  ' ;  Tib  was  a  cant  term  for  any  low 
or  vulgar  woman.  'Rush  rings'  (see  Glossary)  were  sometimes 
used  at  marriage  ceremonies,  especially  where  the  marriages  were 
somewhat  doubtful  (cp.  Douce's  Illustrations,  p.  196). 

II.  iii.  1-41.  Johnson  changed  the  distribution  of  the  speakers, 
so  as  to  bring  out  '  the  whole  merriment  of  the  scene,'  which,  ac- 
cording to  him,  '  consists  in  the  pretensions  of  Parolles  to  knowl- 
edge and  sentiments  which  he  has  not.'  Johnson  has  been  gen- 
erally followed  by  modern  editors.  The  Folio  arrangement  has 
been  kept  in  the  Cambridge  text. 

II.  iii.  23.  'a  showing  of  a  heavenly  effect  in  an  earthly  actor' ; 
the  title  of  some  pamphlet  is  evidently  ridiculed  in  these  words^ 

II.  iii.  y6.  'Imperial  Love';  Folio  i,  '  iniperiall  hue';  Folio  2, 
'  iniperiall  love ' ;  Folio  3,  '  impartiall  Jove.' 

II.  iii.  80.  '  ames-ace'  i.e.  two  aces ;  the  lowest  throw  at  dice ; 
one  would  expect  it,  from  the  context,  to  mean  just  the  contrary, 
but  Lafeu  is  probably  making  '  a  comparison  by  contraries,' — '  an 
ironical  comparison,'  used  with  humorous  effect.  "  One  lauding  a 
sweet-songed  prima  donna,"  aptly  observed  Brinsley  Nicholson, 
"  says,  I  'd  rather  hear  her  than  walk  a  hundred  miles  with  peas 
in  my  boots." 

II.  iii.  298.  '  detested'  Rowe's  emendation ;  Folios,  '  detected.' 

II.  v.  28.  'end';  the  Folios  have  'And';  the  correction,  from 
the  Ellesmere  copy  of  the  First  Folio,  has  been  generally  adopted. 

II.  v.  49.  '  Have  or  will  to  deserve ' ;  Malone  proposed  '  have 
qualities  or  will,'  etc. ;  Singer,  '  wit  or  zvill ' ;  the  later  Folios 
omit  '  to/  and  read  '  have,  or  will  deserve ' ;  the  reading  in  the 
text  is  that  of  Folio    i. 

III.  i.  12,  13. 

'  That  the  great  figure  of  a  council  frames 
By  self-unable  motion' ; 
142 


I 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

probably  Clarke's  explanation  of  these  difficult  lines  is  the  best : — 
"  The  reasons  of  our  state  I  cannot  give  you,  excepting  as  an  ordi- 
nary and  uninitiated  man,  whom  the  august  body  of  a  government- 
council  creates  with  power  unable  of  itself  to  act,  or  with  power 
incapable  of  acting  of  its  own  accord  or  independently."  Others 
make  '  that'  the  subject  of  '  frames'  explaining  '  motion  '  as  '  men- 
tal sight,'  or  '  intuition.' 

III.  ii.  9.  'sold';  so  Folios  3,  4;  Folios  i,  2,  'hold';  Harness 
proposed  '  holds  a  goodly  manner  for.' 

III.  ii.  68.  ' //  thou  engrossest  all  the  griefs  are  thine';  the 
omission  of  the  relative  is  common  in  Shakespeare.  Rowe  un- 
necessarily altered  the  line  to  'all  the  griefs  as  thine.' 

III.  ii.  93.  'holds  him  much  to  have';  so  the  Folios;  Theobald 
conjectured  'soils  him  much  to  have';  others  suggested  ' 'hoves 
him  not  much  to  have';  'fouls  him  much  to  have'  etc.  Rolfe's 
view  of  the  passage  seems  by  far  the  most  satisfactory : — "  He 
has  a  deal  of  that  too-much,  i.e.  excess  of  vanity,  which  makes 
him  fancy  he  has  many  good  qualities." 

III.  ii.  113.  'still-peering  air';  so  Folio  i;  Folio  2,  'still- 
piercing  ' ;  probably  an  error  for  '  still-piecing,'  i.e.  '  still  closing.' 
A  passage  in  The  Wisdom  of  Solomon  (v.  12)  has  been  appro- 
priately compared,  and  may  be  the  source  of  the  thought: — "As 
when  an  arrow  is  shot  at  a  mark,  it  parteth  the  air,  which  imme- 
diately Cometh  together  again,  so  that  a  man  cannot  know  where 
it  went  through." 

III.  V.  68.  '  I  write  good  creature,'  so  Folio  i ;  Folios  2.  3,  4,  '  / 
right';  Rowe,  'Ah!  right  good  creature!'  The  Globe  edition,  '/ 
warrant,  good  creature' ;  Kinnear, :  'I  war'nt  (^warrant),  good 
creature'  (cp.  Hamlet,  I.  ii.  243,  Quarto  2.  'I  warn't'). 

III.  V.  90.  "Lose  our  drum.     Well!"     The  drums  of  Parolles' 
day  were  decorated  with  the  battalion  colours. 
Hence  to  lose  the  drum  was  equivalent  to  losing 
the  flag  of  the  regiment. 

III.  vi.  39.  'John  Drum's  Entertainment' ;  'to 
give  a  person  John  Drum's  Entertainment ' 
probably  meant  to  give  him  such  an  entertain- 
ment as  the  drum  gets ;  hence  *  to  give  a  person 
a  drumming,'  to  turn  him  forcibly  out  of  your 
company.  Theobald  quotes  the  following  from 
Holinshed's  Description  of  Ireland: — "His  por- 
ter, or  none  other  officer,  durst  not,  for  both  his  "^^9^  ^  woodcut  by 
^,         .       1  ,  ...  Hans    Burgmair, 

ears,  give  the  simplest  man  that  resorted  to  his      c.  1517. 

143 


Notes  ALL  *S  WELL 

house,  Tom  Drum  his  entertainment,  which  is  to  hale  a  man  in 
by  the  head,  and  thrust  him  out  by  both  the  shoulders."  In  Mars- 
ton's  interlude,  Jack  Drum's  Entertainment  (1601),  Jack  Drum 
is  a  servant  who  is  constantly  baffled  in  his  knavish  tricks. 

IV.  i.  47.  '  Bajacet's  mule ' ;  the  allusion  has  not  yet  been  ex- 
plained;  perhaps  '  Bajaset'  is  a  blunder  on  the  part  of  Parolles 
for  '  Balaam's.' 

IV.  ii.  25.  'Jove's'  probably  substituted  for  the  original  God's, 
in  obedience  to  the  statute  against  profanity.  Johnson  conjec- 
tured '  Love's.' 

IV.  ii.  36.  '  Who  then  recover' ;  the  Folios  read  'who  then  re- 
covers' changed  unnecessarily  by  Pope  to  '  which  then  recover' 
but  '  who '  is  often  used  for  '  an  irrational  antecedent  personified,' 
though  in  this  passage  the  antecedent  may  be  '  of  me '  implied  in 
'  my  ' ;  '  my  sick  desires '  ^  '  the  sick  desires  of  me  ' ;  in  this  latter 
case  '  recovers  '  is  the  more  common  third  person  singular,  instead 
of  the  first  person  after  'who.' 

IV.  ii.  38.  '  I  see  that  men  make  rope's  in  such  a  scarre'  the 
reading  of  Folios  i,  2 ;  Folio  3,  '  make  ropes ' ;  Folio  4,  '  make 
ropes  .  .  .  scarf  This  is  one  of  the  standing  cruxes  in  the 
text  of  Shakespeare ;  some  thirty  emendations  have  been  pro- 
posed for  'ropes'  and  'scarre,'  e.g.  'hopes  .  .  .  aif airs'; 
'hopes  .  .  .  scenes';  'hopes  .  .  .  scare';  'slopes  .  .  . 
scarre  ' ;  other  suggestions  are,  '  may  cope's  .  .  .  sorte  ' ;  '  may 
rope's  .  .  .  snarle ' ;  '  may  rope's  .  .  .  snare/  etc.  The  apos- 
trophe in  the  First  and  Second  Folios  makes  it  almost  certain  that 
'  's '  stands  for  '  us.'  Possibly  '  make  '  is  used  as  an  auxiliary ; 
'  make  rope's'  would  then  mean  '  do  constrain,  or  ensnare  us.'  Or 
is  'make  rope'  a  compound  verb?  'scarre'  may  be  'scare'  {i.e. 
'fright').  The  general  sense  seems  to  be,  'I  see  that  men  may 
reduce  us  to  such  a  fright  that  we  '11  forsake  ourselves.' 

IV.  iii.  202.  '  Jlis  brains  are  forfeit  to  the  next  tile  that  falls.' 
(See  illustration.) 

IV.  iii.  265.  '  He  will  steal,  sir,  an  egg  out  of  a  cloister,'  i.e. 
'  anything,  however  trifling,  from  any  place,  however  holy.' 

IV.  iii.  282.  '  {he)  has  led  the  drum  before  the  English  trage- 
dians.'    (See  illustration  on  page  146.) 

IV.  iii.  297.  'and  a  perpetual  succession  for  it';  some  such 
verb  as  'grant'  is  to  be  supplied.  Hanmer  altered  'for  it'  to 
'in  it';  Kinnear  conjectured  'free  in  perpetuity.' 

IV.  iv.  34.  'revives';   so  the  Folios;   'reviles,'  'invites,'  ' re- 

144 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Notes 


quires '  have  been  variously  proposed :  it  is  doubtful  whether  any 
change  is  necessary:  'Time,'  says  Helena,  'gives  us  fresh  courage.' 
IV.  V.  41.  'an  English  name';  Folios  i,  2,  'maine'',  Folio  3, 
'  main ' ;        Folio       4, 
'  mean  ' ;  Rowe  first  sug- 
gested '  name  ' ;  the  allu- 
sion is   obviously  to  the 
Black  Prince. 

IV.  V.  41.  '  his  Hsnomy 
is  more  hotter ' ;  Han- 
mer's  proposal  '  hon- 
oured' for  'hotter' 
seems  to  be  a  most 
plausible  emendation. 

V.  i.  6.  '  Enter  a  Gen- 
tleman ' ;  Folio  I  reads 
'A  gentle  Astringer' ; 
Folio  2,  'A  gentle  As- 
tranger ' ;  Folios  3,  4, 
'A  Gentleman  a  stranger.' 
'Astringer '  ==  a  keeper  of  From  Whitney's  E^jiblems  (1586),  in  illustration 
o-^cV-o^rl-c  •  fVi^  ,,rr,rr1  CM-  of  "  E  story  of  three  woHicn  who  threw  dicc  to 
goshawks  ,  the  word  oc-      ascertain  which  of  them  should  first  die.    She 


who  lost  affected  to  laugh  at  the  decrees  of  fate, 
when  a  tile  S7iddenly  falling-,  put  an  end  to  her 
existence"  (Douce). 


curs     nowhere     else     m 

Shakespeare.         There 

seems,  however,  no  very 

particular  reason  for  its  omission  in  modern  editions,  though  it  is 

true  that  in  the  Folio  the  speeches  given  to  '  the  Astringer '  all 

have  the  prefix  '  Gent! 

V.  ii.  I.  'Good  Monsieur  Lavache';  Folio  i,  '  Lauatch' ;  Folio 
2,  '  Lavatch' ;  Folios  3,  4,  '  Levatch' ;  Toilet's  conjecture,  'La- 
vache' has  been  generally  adopted.  Clarke  suggests  that  '  it  may 
have  been  intended  for  Lavage,  which,  in  familiar  French,  is  used 
to  express  '  slop,'  '  puddle,'  '  washiness.'  Something  is  to  be  said  in 
favour  of  Jervis's  proposed  reading,  '  Lapatch'  i.e.  '  patch '^ 
clown,  with  the  prefix  'la'  in  imitation  of  '  Lafeu.' 

V.  ii.  26.  '  Similes  of  comfort ' ;  Theobald's  certain  emendation 
for  the  reading  of  the  Folios,  '  smiles  of  comfort.' 

V.  iii.  65,  66. 

'  Our  own  love  waking  cries  to  see  zvhat's  done. 
While  shameful  hate  sleeps  out  the  afternoon.' 

Johnson  conjectured  'slept'  for  'sleeps'  i.e.  'love  cries  to  see 


145 


Notes 


ALL'S  WELL 


what  was  done  while  hatred  slept,  and  suffered  mischief  to  be 
done.'  Mason  proposed  'old'  for  'own.'  W.  G.  Clarke  inge- 
niously emended  '  shameful  hate '  into  '  shame  full  late,'  but  the 
emendation  destroys  the  antithesis  between  '  love '  and  /  hate!  It 
is  best  to  leave  the  lines  as  they  stand,  though  the  words  '  our 
own  love '  are  somewhat  doubtful :  the  general  meaning  is  simple 
enough. 

V.  iii.  121.  'my  fore-past  proofs,'  etc.;  i.e.  "the  proofs  which  I 
have  already  had  are  sufficient  to  show  that  my  fears  were  not 
vain  and  irrational.  I  have  rather  been  hitherto  more  easy  than 
sought,  and  have  unreasonably  had  too  little  fear"  (Johnson). 

V.  iii.  195.  ''tis  hit,'  the  reading  of  the  Folios,  which  has  been 
variously  explained  as  an  archaic  form  of  '  it,'  or  as  an  error  for 
'  'tis  his'  or  '  is  hit.'  Cambridge  edition,  '  'tis  it,'  but  it  seems 
unnecessary  to  make  any  change;  ''tis  hit'  can  very  well  mean 
*  the  blow  has  been  well  aimed,  it  has  struck  home,'  '  it '  being  used 
impersonally. 

V.  iii.  216.  'Her  infinite  cunning,  with  her  modern  grace,' 
Walker's  certain  emendation  of  the  Folio  '  her  insuite  comming ' ; 


"  He  has  led  the  drum  before  the  English  tragedians  "  (IV.  iii.  282). 

From  Kemp's  Nine  Dates  Wonder  (1600).     The  figures  represent  that  actor, 

as  a  morris  dancer,  and  his  laborer,  Thomas  Slye. 

146 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

other  suggestions  have  been  made: — 'Her  instant  comity'  (Bu- 
bier)  ;  'Her  Jesuit  cunning'  (Bulloch)  ;  'Her  own  suit,  coming' 
(Perring). 

Epil.  :^^2.  '  The  King's  a  beggar';  an  allusion  to  the  old  story 
of  'The  King  and  the  Beggar'  (cp.  Percy's  Reliques),  often  re- 
ferred to  by  Shakespeare;  cp.  'Is  there  not  a  ballad,  boy,  of  the 
King  and  the  Beggar f  {Love's  Labour's  Lost,  I.  ii.  114)  ;  simi- 
larly Richard  H.,  V.  iii.  80  :— 

'  Our  scene  is  alter'd  from  a  serious  thing. 
And  now  chang'd  to  "  The  Beggar  and  the  King."  * 


147 


ALL  'S  WELL 


Explanatory  Notes. 

The  Explanatory  Notes  in  this  edition  have  been  specially  selected  and 
adapted,  with  emendations  after  the  latest  and  best  authorities,  from  the 
most  eminent  Shakespearian  scholars  and  commentators,  irrcluding  Johnson, 
Malone,  Steevens,  Singer,  Dyce,  Hudson,  White,  Furness,  Dowden,  and 
others.  This  method,  here  introduced  for  the  first  time,  provides  the  best 
annotation  of  Shakespeare  ever  embraced  in  a  single  edition. 


ACT  FIRST. 
Scene  L 

5.  in  ward: — Under  the  old  feudal  law  of  England,  and  until 
comparatively  recent  times,  the  heirs  of  great  fortunes  were  wards 
of  the  sovereign.  The  same  was  also  the  case  in  some  parts  of 
France,  and  Shakespeare  but  extends  such  a  law  over  the  whole 
nation. 

19,  20.  O,  that  'had'!  etc.: — Clarke  says: — "The  Countess's 
parenthetical  exclamation  concisely  pictures  all  the  calamitous  cir- 
cumstances involved  in  that  one  word  had — the  lost  parent,  the 
young  girl's  orphanhood,  her  own  dead  husband,  her  son's  past 
dwelling  with  her  at  home,  and  his  imminent  departure." 

47  et  scq.  in  her  they  are  the  better,  etc.: — "Her  virtues,"  ob- 
serves Johnson,  "  are  the  better  for  their  simpleness ;  that  is,  her 
excellencies  are  the  better  because  they  are  artless  and  open,  with- 
out fraud,  without  design."  Johnson  continues :  "  The  learned 
commentator  [Warburton]  has  well  explained  virtues,  but  has 
not,  I  think,  reached  the  force  of  the  word  traitors,  and  therefore 
has  not  shown  the  full  extent  of  Shakespeare's  masterly  observa- 
tion. Estimable  and  useful  qualities,  joined  with  an  evil  dispo- 
sition, give  that  disposition  power  over  others,  who,  by  admiring 
the  virtue,  are  betrayed  to  the  malevolence.  The  Tatlcr,  mention- 
ing the  sharpers  of  his  time,  observes  that  some  of  them  are  men 
of  such  elegance  and  knowledge  that  '  a  young  man  who  falls  into 
their  way  is  betrayed  as  much  by  his  judgement  as  his  passions.'  " 
Clarke's  explanation  of  the  passage  is :     "  We  commend  such  ex- 

148 


I 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

cellencies  with  regret  that  they  should  be  so  good  in  themselves, 
yet  treacherous  in  their  combination  and  effects ;  and  then  the 
Countess  goes  on  to  say  that  Helena's  merits  are  the  better  for 
their  pure  source,  since  she  derives  her  integrity  of  nature  from 
her  father,  and  achieves  her  excellence  herself." 

59.  /  do  affect,  etc. : — "  In  these,  the  first  words  she  utters,"  as 
Clarke  interprets,  "  Helena  uses  the  veiled  language  which  marks 
her  diction  throughout  this  opening  Scene.  She  is  brooding  over 
her  secret  thoughts,  letting  them  but  so  indistinctly  be  seen  as  to 
be  undivined  by  those  around  her,  and  only  so  far  perceived  by 
the  reader  as  to  enable  him  to  gather  what  the  dramatist  intends 
to  indicate.  The  sorrow  Helena  affects  is  that  for  her  father's 
death ;  the  sorrow  she  says  /  have  is  for  the  inauspiciousness  of 
her  love,  and  for  Bertram's  approaching  departure." 

62,  62).  If  the  living,  etc. : — "  This  speech,"  says  Hudson,  "  enig- 
matical enough  at  best,  is  rendered  quite  unintelligible,  both  in  the 
original  and  in  modern  editions,  by  being  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
Countess.  We  therefore  concur  with  Tieck  and  Knight  in  assign- 
ing it  to  Helena.  It  is  in  the  same  style  of  significant  obscurity 
as  her  preceding  speech ;  and  we  can  see  no  meaning  in  it  apart 
from  her  state  of  mind,  absorbed,  as  she  is,  with  a  feeling  which 
she  dare  not  show  and  cannot  suppress.  Of  course  she  refers  to 
Bertram,  and  means  that  the  grief  of  her  unrequited  love  for  him 
makes  mortal,  that  is,  kills  the  grief  she  felt  at  her  father's  death. 
The  speech  is  so  mysterious  that  none  but  the  quick,  sagacious 
mind  of  Lafeu  is  arrested  by  it:  he  at  once  understands  that  he 
does  not  understand  the  speaker.  Coleridge  says,  '  Bertram  and 
Lafeu,  I  imagine,  both  speak  together.'  Whether  this  be  the  case 
or  not,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Lafeu's  question  refers  to 
what  Helena  has  just  said."  "Tieck,"  says  Rolfe,  "(followed  by 
many  editors)  assigns  this  speech  to  Helena;  and  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  it  is  in  the  veiled  and  enigmatical  style  she  uses  here. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  seems  a  natural  antithetical  comment 
for  any  one  to  make  on  Lafeu's  antithetical  speech,  and  therefore 
may  be  left  to  the  Countess,  as  in  the  Folio.  We  think  there  is 
also  some  force  in  White's  objection  that  'if  this  speech  be  as- 
signed to  Helena,  Lafeu's  question,  excited  by  its  quibbling  nature, 
is  not  put  until  after  Bertram  has  turned  the  attention  of  the 
audience  by  addressing  another  person,  to  wit,  the  Countess,  whom 
he  asks  for  her  blessing;  in  which  case  Lafeu's  query  is  presuming 
and  discourteous,  and  the  dramatic  effect  awkward.  But  if  the 
Countess  be  the  last  speaker,  this  is  avoided.' " 

149 


Notes  ALL  'S  WELL 

80,  81.  The  best  wishes,  etc. : — That  is.  may  you  be  mistress  of 
your  wishes,  and  have  power  to  bring  them  to  effect. 

104,  105.  my  idolatrous  fancy,  etc. : — Herford  says :  "  Helen's 
passion  for  Bertram  seems  to  spring,  not  from  any  flaw  in  her 
clear  and  penetrating  mind,  but  from  something  fundamentally 
irrational  in  the  nature  of  love  itself.  Christian  idealism  sees  the 
peculiar  glory  of  love  in  its  power  of  transcending  and  ignoring 
distinctions  of  merit,  and  pouring  itself  forth  on  the  mean  and 
lowly.  Modern  Romanticism,  from  a  kindred  but  distinct  pomt 
of  view,  has  delighted  to  picture  the  salvation  of  a  worthless  man 
by  a  woman's  devoted  love.  But  neither  of  these  transcendent 
ways  of  looking  at  love  is  anywhere  suggested  in  Shakespeare. 
Helen's  love  is  an  idolatry,  and  finds  its  highest  expression  in 
adoring  self-subjection." 

117.  Are  you  meditating  on  virginity f — "It  is  very  character- 
istic of  the  English  renaissance,"  says  Brandes,  "and  of 'the  public 
which  Shakespeare  had  in  view  in  his  early  plays,  that  he  should 
make  this  noble  heroine  take  part  with  Parolles  in  the  long  and 
jocular  conversation  on  the  nature  of  virginity,  which  is  one  of 
the  most  indecorous  passages  in  his  works.  This  dialogue  must 
certainly  belong  to  the  original  version  of  the  play.  We  must  re- 
member that  Helena,  in  that  version,  was  in  all  probability  very 
different  from  the  high-souled  woman  she  became  in  the  process 
of  revision.  She  no  doubt  expressed  herself  freely,  according  to 
Shakespeare's  youthful  manner,  in  rhyming  reveries  on  love  and 
fate.  Or  else  he  made  her  pour  forth  multitudinous  swarms  of 
images,  each  treading  on  the  other's  heels,  like  those  in  which  she 
forecasts  Bertram's  love  adventures  at  the  court  of  France." 
Some  editors  pronounce  the  whole  conversation  on  virginity  (118- 
173)  spurious. 

239.  and  will  not  leave  me: — Clarke  remarks:  "The  noble  mix- 
ture of  spirited  firmness  and  womanly  modesty,  fine  sense  and 
true  humility,  clear  sagacity  and  absence  of  conceit,  passionate 
warmth  and  sensitive  delicacy,  generous  love  and  self-diffidence, 
with  which  Shakespeare  has  endowed  Helena,  renders  her  in  our 
eyes  one  of  the  most  admirable  of  his  female  characters.  Charles 
Lamb,  Coleridge,  Hazlitt,  and  Mrs.  Jameson  have  each  eloquently 
contributed  to  do  homage  to  the  beauty  of  Helena's  character — 
a  beauty  the  more  conspicuous  from  the  difficulties  of  the  story: 
which  demanded  the  combination  of  the  utmost  ardour  in  pas- 
sion with  the  utmost  purity  and  delicacy,  the  utmost  moral  cour- 
age and  intelligence  of  mind  with  the  utmost  modesty  of  nature, 

150 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

to  complete  the  conformation  of  its  heroine."  "  Shakespeare," 
says  Brandes,  "  has  worked  out  the  figure  of  Helena  with  the  ten- 
derest  partiality.  Pity  and  admiration  in  concert  seem  to  have 
guided  his  pen.  We  feel  in  his  portraiture  a  deep  compassion  for 
the  pangs  of  despised  love — the  compassion  of  one  who  himself 
has  suffered — and  over  the  whole  figure  of  Helena  he  has  shed  a 
Raphael-like  beauty.  She  wins  all,  charms  all,  wherever  she  goes 
— old  and  young,  women  and  men — all  except  Bertram,  the  one 
in  whom  her  life  is  bound  up.  The  King  and  the  old  Lafeu  are 
equally  captivated  by  her,  equally  impressed  by  her  excellences. 
Bertram's  mother  prizes  her  as  if  she  were  her  daughter ;  more 
highly,  indeed,  than  she  prizes  her  own  obstinate  son.  The  Italian 
widow  becomes  so  devoted  to  her  that  she  follows  her  to  a  for- 
eign country  in  order  to  vouch  for  her  statement  and  win  her 
back  her  husband." 

Scene  IIL 

[Enter  .  .  .  Clown.]  The  Clozvn  in  this  comedy  is  a  domes- 
tic fool  of  the  same  kind  as  Touchstone  in  As  You  Like  It.  Such 
fools  were,  in  the  Poet's  time,  maintained  in  great  families  to 
keep  up  merriment  in  the  house.  Cartwright,  in  one  of  the  copies 
of  verses  prefixed  to  the  works  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  cen- 
sures such  dialogues  as  this,  and  that  between  Olivia  and  the 
Clown  in  Tzvclfth  Night: — 

"  Shakespeare  to  thee  was  dull,  whose  best  jest  lies 
I'th'  lady's  questions,  and  the  fool's  replies, 
Old-fashion'd  wit,  which  walk'd  from  town  to  town 
In  trunk-hose,  which  our  fathers  call'd  the  clozvn." 

Douce  classes  the  Clown  of  this  comedy  amongst  the  domestic 
fools.  Of  this  genus  the  same  writer  gives  us  three  species,  the 
mere  natural,  or  idiot ;  the  silly  by  nature,  yet  cunning  and  sar- 
castical ;  the  artificial.  Of  this  latter  species,  to  which  it  appears 
that  the  Clown  before  us  belongs,  Puttenham,  in  his  Art  of  Eng- 
lish Poesie,  has  defined  the  characteristics :  "  A  buffoon,  or  coun- 
terfeit fool,  to  hear  him  speak  wisely,  which  is  like  himself,  it  is 
no  sport  at  all.  But  for  such  a  counterfeit  to  talk  and  look  fool- 
ishly it  maketh  us  laugh,  because  it  is  no  part  of  his  natural."  Of 
the  real  domestic  fools  of  the  artificial  class — that  is,  of  the  class 
of  clever  fellows  who  were  content  to  be  called  fools  for  their 
hire,    Gabriel    Harvey    has    given    us    some    minor    distinctions : 

151 


Notes  ALL  'S  WELL 

"  Scoggin,  the  jovial  fool;  or  Skelton,  the  melancholy  fool;  or 
Elderton,  the  bibbing  fool ;  or  Will  Sommer,  the  choleric  fool." 
Shakespeare's  fools  each  united  in  his  own  person  all  the  peculiar 
qualities  that  must  have  made  the  real  domestic  fool  valuable.  He 
infused  into  them  his  wit  and  his  philosophy,  without  taking  them 
out  of  the  condition  of  realities.  They  are  the  interpreters,  to  the 
multitude,  of  many  things  that  would  otherwise  lie  too  deep  for 
words. 

57,  58.  joul  horns,  etc. : — It  used  to  be  thought  in  Shakespeare's 
time  that  the  Puritans  and  Papists  stood  so  far  apart  as  to  meet 
round  on  the  other  side,  as  extremes  are  apt  to  do. 

96  et  scq.  Though  honesty,  etc. : — The  controversy  touching 
such  things  as  kneeling  at  the  Communion  and  wearing  the  sur- 
plice was  raging  quite  fiercely  in  Shakespeare's  time ;  everybody 
was  interested  in  it ;  so  that  the  allusion  in  the  text  would  be  gen- 
erally understood.  The  Puritans  would  have  compelled  every 
one  to  wear  the  black  gown,  which  was  to  them  the  symbol  of 
Calvinism.  Some  of  them,  however,  conformed  so  far  as  to  wear 
the  surplice  over  the  gown,  because  their  conscience  would  not 
suffer  them  to  officiate  without  the  latter,  nor  the  law  of  the 
Church  without  the  former.  It  is  hard  to  conceive  why  they 
should  have  been  so  hot  against  these  things,  unless  it  were  that 
the  removing  of  them  was  only  a  pretence,  while  in  reality  they 
aimed  at  other  things.  And  we  learn  from  Jeremy  Collier,  that 
when  Sir  Francis  Walsingham  offered  in  the  queen's  name  to 
concede  so  far,  they  replied,  "Ne  ungulam  esse  relinquendam; 
they  would  not  leave  so  much  as  a  hoof  behind."  How  the  war 
was  kept  up  may  be  judged  from  what  Jeremy  Taylor  wrote  sixty 
years  later :  "  But  there  are  amongst  us  such  tender  stomachs  that 
cannot  endure  milk,  but  can  very  well  digest  iron;  consciences  so 
tender,  that  a  ceremony  is  greatly  offensive,  but  rebellion  is  not; 
a  surplice  drives  them  away  as  a  bird  affrighted  with  a  man  of 
clouts :  but  their  consciences  can  suffer  them  to  despise  govern- 
ment, and  speak  evil  of  dignities,  and  curse  all  that  are  not  of 
their  opinion,  and  disturb  the  peace  of  kingdoms,  and  commit 
sacrilege,  and  account  schism  the  character  of  saints." 

142  et  seq.  "  The  scene,"  says  Mrs.  Jameson,  "  in  which  the 
Countess  extorts  from  Helena  the  confession  of  her  love  is  per- 
haps the  finest  in  the  whole  play,  and  brings  out  all  the  striking 
points  of  Helena's  character.  Though  the  acknowledgement  is 
wrung  from  her  with  an  agony  which  seems  to  convulse  her  whole 
being,  yet  when  once  she  has  given  it  solemn  utterance,  she  re- 

152 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

covers  her  presence  of  mind,  and  asserts  her  native  dignity.  In 
her  justification  of  her  feelings  and  her  conduct,  there  is  neither 
sophistry  nor  self-deception  nor  presumption,  but  a  noble  sim- 
plicity, combined  with  the  most  impassioned  earnestness ;  while 
the  language  naturally  rises  in  its  eloquent  beauty,  as  the  tide  of 
feeling,  now  first  let  loose  from  the  bursting  heart,  comes  pouring 
forth  in  words.    The  whole  scene  is  wonderfully  beautiful." 

156,  157.  That  this  distempc/d  messenger,  etc. : — There  is  some- 
thing exquisitely  beautiful  in  this  reference  to  the  suffusion  of 
colours  which  glimmers  around  the  eye  when  wet  with  tears. 
The  Poet  has  described  the  same  appearance  in  his  Rape  of  Lu- 
cre ce,  1586: — 

"And  round  about  her  tear-distained  eye 
Blue  circles  stream'd,  like  rainbows  in  the  sky." 

ACT  SECOND. 
Scene  L 

37.  our  parting,  etc. : — Our  parting  is  as  it  were  to  dissever  or 
dismember  a  body. 

88.  Than  I  dare  blame  my  weakness: — Steevens  explains  this 
obscure  expression  thus :  "  To  acknowledge  how  much  she  has 
astonished  me  would  be  to  acknowledge  a  weakness ;  and  this  I 
am  unwilling  to  do."  Mason,  in  this  manner :  "  Lafeu's  meaning 
appears  to  be,  that  the  amazement  she  excited  in  him  was  so  great 
that  he  could  not  impute  it  merely  to  his  own  weakness,  but  to 
the  wonderful  qualities  of  the  object  that  occasioned  it."  Clarke 
interprets,  "  hath  filled  me  with  more  well-grounded  astonishment 
than  with  weak  credulity  deserving  blame."  Halliwell  says  :  "  My 
amazement  is  too  great  for  me  to  accuse  my  weakness  of  creating 
it ;  I  cannot  impute  my  surprise  to  my  credulity." 

138.  Since  you  set  up,  etc. : — That  is,  "  Since  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  that  there  is  no  remedy." 

141,  142.  So  holy  writ  .  .  been  babes: — Perhaps  an  allusion 
to  Matthew,  xi.  25  :  "I  thank  thee,  O  Father.  Lord  of  heaven  and 
earth,  because  thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the  wise  and  pru- 
dent, and  hast  revealed  them  unto  babes."  See  also  Daniel,  i.  17- 
20. 

142.  Great  Hoods  perhaps  alludes  to  the  smiting  of  the  rock  in 
Horeb  by  Moses. 

153 


Notes  ALL  'S  WELL 

143,  144.  great  seas,  etc. : — This  refers,  apparently,  to  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  passing  the  Red  Sea,  when  miracles  had  been  denied 
by  Pharaoh. 

Scene  IL 

43.  0  Lord,  sir! — A  satire  on  this  silly  expletive,  then  much  in 
vogue  at  court  and  among  the  fashionable  aristocracy.  It  was 
ridiculed  by  other  writers.  Thus,  in  Jonson's  Every  Man  in  His 
Humour:  "You  conceive  me,  sir? — O  Lord,  sir!"  And  Cleve- 
land, in  one  of  his  songs :  "  Answer,  O  Lord,  sir !  and  talk  play- 
book  oaths." 

Scene  IIL 

I  et  seq.  Coleridge  has  a  characteristic  remark  upon  this  pas- 
sage :  "  Shakespeare,  inspired,  as  might  seem,  with  all  knowledge, 
here  uses  the  word  causeless  in  its  strict  philosophical  sense ; 
cause  being  truly  predicable  only  of  phenomena,  that  is,  things 
natural,  not  of  noumena,  or  things  supernatural."  Bacon,  in  his 
Essay,  Of  Atheism,  has  a  remark  apparently  born  of  the  same 
experience  that  dictated  the  passage  in  the  text :  "  It  is  true,  that 
a  little  philosophy  inclineth  man's  mind  to  atheism,  but  depth  in 
philosophy  bringeth  men's  minds  about  to  religion ;  for  while  the 
mind  of  man  looketh  upon  second  causes  scattered,  it  may  some- 
times rest  in  them,  and  go  no  further ;  but  when  it  beholdeth  the 
chain  of  them  confederate,  and  linked  together,  it  must  needs  fly 
to  Providence  and  Deity."  The  topic  seems  to  have  been  often 
in  the  thoughts  of  that  wonderful  man :  he  has  it  again  in  his 
Meditationes  Sacra,  and  his  Advancement  of  Learning. 

100-102.  This  speech  is  usually  printed  as  if  the  whole  of  it  re- 
ferred to  Bertram ;  which  seems  to  render  the  latter  part  of  it 
unintelligible.  To  get  over  the  difficulty,  Theobald,  and  Hanmer 
and  Warburton  after  him,  broke  it  into  three  speeches,  giving  to 
Lafeu  "  There  's  one  grape  yet,"  to  Parolles  "  I  am  sure  thy  father 
drunk  wine,"  and  the  rest  to  Lafeu.  There  is  no  authority  for 
this ;  besides,  taking  the  latter  part  of  the  speech  as  addressed  to 
Parolles,  all  seems  clear  enough,  and  agrees  well  with  what  after- 
wards passes  between  them.  Of  course,  during  this  part  of  the 
scene  Lafeu  and  Parolles  stand  at  some  distance  from  the  rest, 
where  they  can  see  what  is  done,  but  not  hear  what  is  said ;  there- 
fore Lafeu  has  been  speaking  as  if  Helena  were  the  refused,  not 
the  refuser. 

154 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

119  et  seq.  [King.]  Herford  remarks:  "  Shakespeare  has  rarely- 
dwelt  upon  those  class  antagonisms  of  noble  and  bourgeois  which 
enter  so  largely  into  modern  fiction ;  as  rarely  the  relation  between 
mother  and  daughter.  His  Countess  ignores  the  one  and  assumes 
the  other — a  silent  tribute  to  Helena's  distmction  of  character,  as 
to  her  own.  Lafeu  is  an  aristocrat  of  the  same  genial  type,  who 
betrays  only  indignant  wonder  when  the  young  nobles  of  the 
court  appear  to  refuse  the  proffered  hand  of  the  poor  physician's 
daughter.  The  king  himself,  instead  of  being  '  very  loath  '  at 
Helena's  choice,  accepts  it  with  cordial  alacrity,  and  checks  Ber- 
tram's scorn  by  a  frankly  democratic  speech  which  saps  the  basis 
of  the  whole  fabric  of  social  distinctions  founded  upon  blood." 

164.  Or  I  will  throw  thee  from  my  care  for  ever: — "  Outspoken 
enough  in  his  first  refusal,"  observes  Lloyd,  "  Bertram  yields — 
not  to  the  lecture  on  the  nobility  of  merit  as  contrasted  with  that 
of  blood,  but  to  the  king's  threat  of  severe  and  instant  displeasure 
in  terms  implying  the  privation  of  the  chances  of  distinction  he 
is  so  disposed  to  value.  .  .  .  Thus  urged,  the  double  weakness 
of  his  character  appears — first  in  giving  way  to  a  threat,  and  then 
in  the  facile  employment  of  a  certain  glozing  glibness  in  the  terms 
of  his  recantation,  betraying  a  deep  deficiency  of  innate  truthful- 
ness and  hardy  self-respect.  The  consent  is  a  concession  to 
immediate  pressure,  and  on  the  first  escape  from  this,  his  earlier 
project  is  embraced;  and,  with  Parolles  to  aid  and  abet,  he  makes 
off  from  his  neglected  bride  for  the  Tuscan  wars.  The  Bertram 
of  this  Scene  is  evidently  the  same  young  nobleman  who  pursues 
with  promises  of  unlimited  profusion  the  honour  of  Diana  Capu- 
let,  and  who  to  extricate  himself  from  a  difficulty,  invents  and 
pours  forth  one  lie  after  another  with  a  volubility  of  tongue 
almost  gratuitous,  and  with  every  charitable  allowance  for  his  em- 
barrassment, sufficiently  repulsive." 

235-237.  for  doing  I  am  past,  etc. : — Lafeu  means,  "  as  I  will 
pass  by  thee  as  fast  as  I  am  able  " ;  and  he  immediately  goes  out: 
a  quibble  on  pass. 

Scene  IV. 

:i7.  and  well  fed: — Perhaps  the  old  saying,  "better  fed  than 
taught,"  is  alluded  to  here,  as  in  II.  ii.  3,  where  the  Clown  says, 
"  I  will  show  myself  highly  fed  and  lowly  taught." 

42-46.  puts  it  off,  etc. : — Puts  it  off  in  obedience  to  an  enforced 
restraint;  the  passive,  compelVd,  for  the  active,  compelling.    The 

155 


Notes  ALL'S  WELL 

meaning  of  the  passage  appears  to  be,  that  the  delay  of  the  joys 
and  the  expectation  of  them,  would  make  them  more  delightful 
when  they  come.  The  curbed  time  is  the  time  of  restraint.  Whose 
want  is  the  want  of  which,  referring  to  prerogative  and  rite. 

Scene  V. 

6.  bunting: — The  bunting  nearly  resembles  the  skylark  in  size, 
form,  and  feather,  but  has  little  or  no  song,  which  gives  estima- 
tion to  the  skylark. 

38,  39.  like  him  that  leaped  into  the  custard : — Ben  Jonson  men- 
tions this  custom  in  The  Devil  is  an  Ass,  T.  i. : — 

"  He  may  perchance,  in  tail  of  a  sheriff's  dinner, 
Skip  with  a  rhyme  on  the  table,  from  New-nothing, 
And  take  his  Almain  leap  into  a  custard, 
Shall  make  my  lady  mayoress  and  her  sisters 
Laugh  all  their  hoods  over  their  shoulders." 


ACT  THIRD. 
Scene  IL 

78.  'Tis  bitter-. — Referring  to  Helena's  whole  attitude  to  Ber- 
tram, Brandes  says :  "  She  ventures  all  that  she  may  gain  her  well- 
beloved,  and  in  the  pursuit  of  her  aim  shows  an  inventive  capacity 
not  common  among  women.  For  the  real  object  of  her  journey 
to  cure  the  King  is,  as  she  frankly  confesses,  to  be  near  Bertram. 
As  in  the  tale,  she  obtains  the  King's  promise  that  she  may,  if 
she  is  successful  in  curing  him,  choose  herself  a  husband  among 
the  lords  of  his  court;  but  in  Boccaccio  it  is  the  King  who,  in 
answer  to  her  question  as  to  the  reward,  gives  her  this  promise 
of  his  own  accord ;  in  the  play  it  is  she  who  first  states  her  wish. 
So  possessed  is  she  by  her  passion  for  one  who  does  not  give  her 
a  thought  or  a  look.  But  when  he  rejects  her  (unlike  Giletta  in 
the  tale),  she  has  no  desire  to  attain  her  object  by  compulsion; 
she  simply  says  to  the  King  with  noble  resignation,  '  That  you  are 
well  restored,  my  lord,  I'm  glad;  let  the  rest  go.'  She  offers  no 
objection  when  Bertram,  immediately  after  the  wedding,  an- 
nounces his  departure,  alleging  pretexts  which  she  does  not 
choose  to  see  through;  she  suft'ers  without  a  murmur  when,  at 
the  moment  of  parting,  he  refuses  her  a  kiss.     When  she  has 

156 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

learnt  the  whole  truth,  she  can  at  first  utter  nothing  but  short 
ejaculations :  '  My  lord  is  gone,  for  ever  gone.'  '  This  is  a  dread- 
ful sentence !  '  "Tis  bitter  !  ' — and  presently  she  leaves  her  home, 
that  she  may  be  no  hindrance  to  his  returning  to  it.  Predisposed 
though  she  is  to  self-confidence  and  pride,  no  one  could  possibly 
love  more  tenderly  and  humbly  '* 

100.  In  reply  to  the  gentlemen's  declaration  that  they  are  her 
servants,  the  Countess  answers,  not  otherwise  than  as  we  return 
the  same  offices  of  civility. 

124,  125.  Whence  honour,  etc. : — The  sense  is,  "  From  that  place, 
where  all  the  advantage  that  honour  usually  reaps  from  the  dan- 
ger it  rushes  upon,  is  only  a  scar  in  testimony  of  its  bravery,  as, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  often  is  the  cause  of  losing  all,  even  life 
itself." 

Scene  IV. 

4.  Saint  Jaqucs'  pilgrim:— At  Orleans  was  a  church  dedicated 
to  Saint  Jaques.  to  which  pilgrims  formerly  used  to  resort  to  adore 
a  part  of  the  cross  which  they  believed  to  be  there. 

Scene  V. 

53.  His  face  I  knozv  not '.—Touching  this  passage,  Coleridge 
asks,  "  Shall  we  say  here,  that  Shakespeare  has  unnecessarily 
made  his  loveliest  character  utter  a  lie?  Or  shall  we  dare  think 
that,  where  to  deceive  was  necessary,  he.  thought  a  pretended 
verbal  verity  a  double  crime,  equally  with  the  other  a  lie  to  the 
hearer,  and  at  the  same  time  an  attempt  to  lie  to  one's  con- 
science?" Whatsoever  may  be  the  truth  in  this  case,  such,  no 
doubt,  is  often  the  result  of  overstraining  the  rule  against  deceiv- 
ing others;  it  puts  people  upon  skulking  behind  subterfuges  for 
the  deceiving  of  themselves.  We  have  often  seen  them  use  great 
art  to  speak  the  truth  in  such  a  way  as  to  deceive,  and  then  hug 
themselves  in  the  conceit  that  they  had  not  spoken  falsely. 

Scene  VIL 

45-48.  Is  wicked  meaning,  etc. :— The  explanation  of  this  riddle 
is,  that  Bertram  was  to  do  a  lawful  deed  with  a  wicked  intent; 
Helena,  the  same  deed  with  a  good  intent;  and  that  what  was 
really  to  be  on  both  sides  a  lawful  meeting  was  to  seem  in  them 
both  a  sinful  act. 

157 


Notes  ALL  'S  WELL 

ACT  FOURTH. 

Scene  L 

21,  22.  choughs'  language,  etc. : — The  sense  of  this  passage  ap- 
pears to  be:  "We  must  each  fancy  a  jargon  for  himself,  without 
aiming  to  be  understood  by  each  other;  for,  provided  we  appear 
to  understand,  that  will  be  sufficient."  The  chough  is  a  bird  of 
the  jackdaw  kind. 

Scene  IL 

14.  my  vows : — His  vows  never  to  treat  Helena  as  his  wife. 

21-29.  'Tis  not  the  many  oaths,  etc.: — Few  passages  in  Shake- 
speare have  been  more  belaboured  than  this.  To  understand  it,  we 
must  bear  in  mind  what  Bertram  has  been  doing  and  trying  to 
do.  He  has  been  swearing  love  to  Diana,  and  in  the  strength  of 
that  oath  wants  her  to  do  that  which  would  ruin  her.  This  is 
what  she  justly  calls  loving  her  ill,  because  it  is  a  love  that  would 
injure  her.  She  therefore  retorts  upon  him,  that  oaths  in  such  a 
suit  are  but  an  adding  of  perjury  to  lust.  As  to  the  latter  part  of 
the  passage,  the  lines  have  not  been  understood  on  account  of  the 
inversion.  The  first  him  refers  to  Jove,  and  whom,  not  to  this,  but 
to  the  second  him;  or  rather  whom  and  the  latter  him  are  cor- 
relative. The  meaning,  then,  at  once  appears,  if  we  render  the 
sentence  thus :  "  This  has  no  holding,  this  will  not  hold,  to  swear 
by  Heaven  that  I  will  work  against  him,  or  seek  his  hurt,  whom  I 
protest  to  love."  What,  therefore,  does  she  conclude?  why,  that 
his  oaths  are  no  oaths,  but  mere  words  and  poor,  unseal'd,  unrati- 
fied conditions. 

Scene  IH. 

34-37.  /  would  gladly,  etc.: — This  is  a  very  just  and  moral 
reason.  Bertram,  by  finding  how  ill  he  has  judged,  will  be  less 
confident  and  more  open  to  admonition. 

239.  Half  zvon,  etc.: — That  is,  a  match  well  made  is  half  won; 
make  your  match  therefore,  but  make  it  well. 

Scene  IV. 

21-25.  But,  O  strange  men,  etc.: — Clarke  explains:  "When,  by 
permitting  the  beguiled  imagination  to  rove  forbiddenly,  the  dark- 

158 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Notes 

ness  of  night  is  made  blacker  "  ;  and  comments :  "  This  wandering 
away  of  Helena's  thoughts  into  reverie  (for  the  whole  of  this  sen- 
tence is  spoken  to  herself,  rather  than  to  her  hearers)  even  while 
she  is  commenting  upon  excursive  fancies,  is,  to  our  thinking, 
intensely  fine  and  true  to  human  nature,  particularly  under  these 
special  circumstances." 

35.  the  fine's  the  crown: — A  translation  of  the  common  Latin 
proverb,  Finis  coronat  opus.  Of  course  fine  is  used  in  its  primitive 
sense,  for  end. 

Scene  V. 

2-4.  whose  villanous  saffron,  etc. : — In  The  Winter's  Tale,  IV. 
iii.  47,  the  Clown  says,  "  I  must  have  saffron  to  colour  the  warden 
pies."  From  which  it  appears  that  in  Shakespeare's  time  saffron 
was  used  for  colouring  pastry.  The  phrase  "  unbaked  and  doughy 
youth  "  shows  that  the  same  custom  is  alluded  to  here.  Reference 
is  also  had  to  the  coxcombical  finery,  "  the  scarfs  and  the  ban- 
nerets," which  this  strutting  vacuum  cuts  his  dashes  in.  Yellow 
was  then  the  prevailing  colour  in  the  dress  of  such  as  Parolles, 
whose  soul  was  in  their  clothes.  Various  passages  might  be  cited 
in  proof  of  this.  Thus,  Sir  Philip  Sidney  has  ''  saffron-co\ouvt6. 
coat,"  and  Ben  Jonson  in  one  of  his  songs  speaks  of  "  ribands, 
bells,  and  saffrond  lynnen."  The  concluding  part  of  Lafeu's  de- 
scription seems  to  identify  red  as  the  colour  of  a  fantastical  cox- 
comb's hose,  or  the  allusion  may  be  to  his  scarfs. 


ACT    FIFTH. 
Scene  L 

25.  All's  well  that  ends  well: — Herford  says :  "  Helena  has  been 
described  as  a  kind  of  antithesis  to  Hamlet,  in  her  clear  purpose 
and  resolute  will ;  her  quiet  intensity  and  absence  of  humour  asso- 
ciate her  with  Isabel,  the  device  which  restores  her  wedded  rights, 
with  Mariana.  The  marks  of  early  date  thus  attach  themselves 
to  scenes  which  form  the  very  framework  of  the  plot." 

Scene  IL 

56.  though  you  are  a  fool,  etc.: — "This  is  just  one  of  Shake- 
speare's own  touches,"  says  Clarke.     "  It  is  not  only  true  to  his 

159 


Notes  ALL'S  WELL 

large  spirit  of  toleration  for  human  frailties,  that  the  old  noble- 
man should  save  the  wretch  from  starving,  notwithstanding  his 
strong  disgust  for  his  character ;  but  it  is  an  ingenuity  of  dramatic 
art  thus  to  provide  that  Parolles  shall  be  at  hand,  when  the  final 
scene  of  the  story  takes  place  at  Rousillon,  to  appear  among  the 
other  personages  of  the  play."  * 

Scene  IIL 

17.  richest  eyes : — So  in  As  You  Like  It,  IV.  i.  23-25  :  "  To  have 
seen  much,  and  to  have  nothing,  is  to  have  rich  eyes  and  poor 
hands."  Those  who,  having  seen  the  greatest  number  of  fair 
women,  might  be  said  to  be  the  richest  in  ideas  of  beauty." 

21,  22.  kill  all  repetition  : — That  is,  the  first  interview  shall  put 
an  end  to  all  recollection  of  the  past. 

93-101.  In  Florence,  etc. : — "  Here,"  says  Clarke,  "  is  one  of 
Count  Bertram's  ready  falsehoods,  which  he,  with  the  fluency  of 
an  expert  liar,  pours  forth,  with  self-condemnatory  ease.  Though 
he  did  not  know  that  the  ring  belonged  to  Helena,  he  knew  that 
it  was  not  given  to  him  under  the  circumstances  he  describes  with 
so  much  afifected  precision  of  detail ;  and  that  very  throwing  from 
a  window,  wrapping  in  paper,  and  nobleness  of  the  thrower,  by 
which  he  seeks  to  give  an  appearance  of  verisimilitude  to  his  tale, 
serves  to  prove  its  untruth,  and  to  convict  himself  of  being  alto- 
gether untrue."  Johnson  remarks  that  Bertram  still  has  too  little 
virtue  to  deserve  Helena.  He  did  not  know  it  was  Helena's  ring, 
but  he  knew  that  he  had  it  not  from  a  window. 

313,314.  //  she,  my  liege,  etc.: — Herford  thus  dismisses  Hel- 
ena :  "  The  triumph  of  her  love  is  merely  external.  She  has  satis- 
fied the  conditions  and  her  husband  consents  to  take  her  home; 
but  of  the  sequel  we  are  left  to  form  what  ominous  conjecture 
we  may  from  the  perfunctory  declaration : — 

'  If  she,  my  liege,  can  make  me  know  this  clearly, 
I  '11  love  her  dearly,  ever,  ever  dearly.'  " 


160 


THAT  ENDS  WELL 


Questions  on 

All  s  Well  that  Ends  Well. 


1.  Was  this  play  probably  performed  during  the  Poet's  life- 
time?   When  do  we  find  the  first  theatrical  notices  published? 

2.  Comment  on  the  divergencies  of  style  and  show  what  they 
indicate  as  to  date  of  composition. 

3.  Indicate  the  differences  between  the  story  of  Boccaccio,  on 
which  the  play  is  founded,  and  the  play  itself.  What  characters 
are  of  Shakespeare's  creation? 

ACT  FIRST. 

4.  In  how  many  places  in  the  play  are  there  references  to  the 
father  of  Bertram?  What  influence  upon  the  dispositions  of 
people  does  his  memory  exert? 

5.  What  relation  does  Bertram  bear  to  the  King? 

6.  How  does  the  first  view  of  Helena  compare  with  that  of 
Hamlet?  Compare  the  words  of  Lafeu  (i.  60,  61)  with  those  of 
the  King  to  Hamlet.  How  do  the  Countess  and  Lafeu  mistake 
the  sorrow  of  Helena? 

7.  Compare  the  Countess's  blessing  on  Bertram  (line  66  et  seq.) 
with  Polonius's  on  Laertes. 

8.  Characterize  the  poetic  qualities  of  Helena's  soliloquy  in 
Sc.  i. 

9.  How  does  Helena  describe  Parolles  as  to  character  and 
reputation  ? 

10.  In  what  spirit  does  Helena  enter  upon  the  discussion  of  vir- 
ginity with  Parolles?  What  is  the  dramatic  purpose  of  this  some- 
what prolonged  dialogue? 

11.  What  qualities  does  Parolles  demonstrate  in  himself  as  the 
discussion  turns  upon  war? 

12.  What  is  the  dominant  quality  of  Helena's  nature,  and  where 
in  the  first  Scene  does  she  exploit  it? 

161 


Questions  ALL 'S  WELL 

13.  Show  how  the  enveloping  action  of  the  drama  is  indicated 
in  Sc.  ii. 

14.  What  is  Shakespeare's  comment  on  the  character  of  the 
courtier?  Comment  on  Shakespeare's  independence  of  character, 
considering  the  fact  that  he  was  a  playwright  favoured  at  court. 

15.  Show  the  mixture  of  sweetness  and  cynicism  in  the  King's 
speeches.    How  is  the  edge  taken  from  the  latter  quality? 

16.  Compare  the  Clown  with  Touchstone  in  As  You  Like  It. 
What  impression  does  his  wit  make? 

17.  How  is  the  Countess  informed  of  Helena's  love  for  Ber- 
tram? W^hat  impediment  does  Helena  chiefly  fear  to  her  union 
with  Bertram? 

18.  What  does  the  Countess  find  in  herself  to  quicken  her 
sympathy  with  Helena?  How  does  she  wring  the  confession 
from  Helena? 

19.  When  did  Helena  determine  to  go  to  Paris?  How  far 
did  her  thoughts  for  the  King  bear  a  part  in  her  motives? 

20.  Review  the  first  Act  and  state  the  causes  for  the  action 
that  are  here  set  forth. 

ACT  SECOND. 

21.  Does  the  King  seem  English  or  French  in  temper? 

22.  In  what  position  is  Bertram  placed  in  regard  to  the  wars? 

23.  How  account  for  the  bantering  tone  that  Lafeu  takes  with 
the  King? 

24.  Explain  the  Biblical  allusions  in  Helena's  speech,  i.  137 
et  seq. 

25.  Compare  lines  154,  155  of  this  Scene  with  Act  I.  Sc.  i. 
226,  227,  and  comment  on  the  nature  of  the  religious  feeling 
evinced  by  Helena. 

26.  How  is  Helena  willing  to  stake  the  chances  of  the  success 
of  her  remedy  with  the  King? 

27.  Is  the  sententious  quality  of  the  King's  speech  (line  178 
et  seq.)  assisted  by  the  rhyming  couplets? 

28.  Explain  the  purpose  of  the  Clown's  frequent  repetition  (Sc. 
ii.)  of  the  phrase,  "  O  Lord,  sir  !  " 

29.  What  is  Lafeu's  reflection  at  the  opening  of  Sc.  iii.? 
Wherein  resides  the  humour  of  Parolles  in  this  dialogue? 

30.  How  does  Shakespeare  manage  the  scene  of  Helena's  choos- 
ing a  husband  so  as  to  acquit  her  of  immodesty?  What  was  her 
motive  for  asking  the  First  Lord? 

162 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Questions 

31.  Is  the  motive  Bertram  alleges  for  denying  her  probably 
the  true  one?  How  would  Ophelia  or  Viola  have  taken  the  re- 
jection? 

2,2.  How  does  the  King  give  to  Helena  "  social  promotion  "  ? 
In  the  light  of  this  play  comment  on  Shakespeare's  general  aris- 
tocracy of  feeling. 

ZZ'  Does  Bertram's  sudden  acquiescence  in  the  King's  demand 
bode  ill  ?  Does  one  feel  that  there  is  in  Bertram  a  mental  reserva- 
tion? 

34.  What  is  the  episodic  purpose  of  the  scene  between  Parolles 
and  Lafeu?  How  does  this  scene  develop  the  presentation  of 
Parolles?  How  is  he  defined  by  Lafeu?  Where  is  the  undoing 
of  Parolles  foreshadowed? 

35.  What  does  Bertram  determine  upon  after  his  marriage? 

36.  How  do  you  account  (Sc.  iv.)  for  the  presence  of  the  Clown 
at  Paris?    What  message  does  Parolles  bring  to  Helena? 

ZT.  What  is  Helena's  attitude  towards  Bertram  now  that  she 
has  won  him  in  marriage? 

38.  What  opinion  of  Parolles  (Sc.  v.)  does  Bertram  give 
Lafeu?  Indicate  the  dramatic  purpose  of  the  return  of  Parolles 
to  the  Scene. 

39.  What  deceit  does  Bertram  practise  upon  Helena?  How 
might  this  Scene  be  marred  in  the  hands  of  an  artist  less  great 
than  Shakespeare? 

ACT  THIRD. 

40.  Indicate  the  position  of  Sc.  i.  in  the  time  scheme. 

41.  How  is  Bertram  described  by  the  Clown?  Indicate  the 
dramatic  purpose  of  the  Clown's  forswearing  of  Isbel. 

42.  What  were  the  contents  of  the  liters  to  the  Countess  and 
to  Helena? 

43.  What  is  the  bearing  of  the  Countess  under  the  news  brought 
in  the  letters? 

44.  Indicate  the  train  of  thought  expressed  by  Helena.  What 
does  she  determine  upon  doing? 

45.  In  Sc.  iii.  what  rise  in  the  fortunes  of  Bertram  is  indicated? 

46.  What  is  the  metrical  form  of  Helena's  letter?  What  report 
does  she  give  out  of  her  intentions? 

47.  What  is  the  story  of  Diana? 

48.  Does  Helena  tell  a  lie  to  the  Widow  of  Florence? 

163 


Questions  ALL  'S  WELL 

49.  What  is  the  dramatic  effect  of  the  Widow's  and  Diana's 
pity  for  the  wife  of  Bertram? 

50.  How  is  the  drum  episode  foreshadowed? 

51.  For  what  purpose  is  the  stratagem  put  upon  Parolles? 

52.  How  does  Parolles  answer  to  the  suggestion  that  the  drum 
be  recovered?  What  leads  him  to  an  undertaking  for  which  he 
has  no  stomach? 

53.  Can  you  find  in  your  own  observation  any  confirmation  of 
the  truth  uttered  in  Sc.  vi.  94  et  seq.? 

54.  Is  it  to  point  Bertram's  youth  that  he  is  made  unable  to  see 
through  Parolles? 

55.  What  trait  of  Helena  is  manifest  in  Sc.  vii.?  How  does 
she  overcome  the  scruples  of  the  Widow? 

ACT  FOURTH. 

56.  Explain  choughs'  language.  Where  did  Shakespeare  get  his 
suggestion  for  this? 

57.  Does  Parolles  know  himself  to  be  a  coward?  Did  Falstaff? 
Did  the  latter  ever  confess  it  to  himself? 

58.  What  is  the  Second  Lord's  comment  on  Parolles? 

59.  What  things  did  Parolles  meditate  to  say  in  accounting  for 
himself  on  his  return  to  camp?  What  does  he  promise  after  his 
capture  ? 

60.  In  Sc.  ii.  Bertram  for  the  first  time  takes  the  initiative. 
Define  the  importance  of  this  Scene  from  a  dramatic  point  of 
view. 

61.  How  does  Diana  plead  against  Bertram's  desires?  Does 
Shakespeare  allow  her  own  individuality  to  assert  itself?  What 
is  the  implication  in  her  name? 

62.  Give  the  dramatic  significance  of  the  rings.  Sc.  ii.  has 
what  episodic  value? 

63.  What  news  did  the  letter  of  the  Countess  contain?  When 
was  it  delivered  to  Bertram?    What  was  its  effect  upon  him? 

64.  Bearing  in  mind  that  this  play  deals  with  Frenchmen,  with 
ideals  unlike  the  Anglo-Saxon,  what  is  the  point  of  honour  im- 
plied in  the  conversation  of  the  two  Lords  at  the  opening  of 
Sc.  iii.? 

65.  What  is  the  dramatic  excuse  for  this  conversation? 

66.  In  what  temper  of  mind  does  Bertram  appear  on  his  en- 
trance into  Sc.  iii.?     What  judgement  of  Bertram  is  demanded 

164 


THAT  ENDS  WELL  Questions 

of  the  spectator  by  the  combined  impressions  derived  from  this 
Scene? 

67.  What  is  Bertram's  fear  when  Parolles  is  brought  in  for 
examination  ? 

68.  Is  the  humour  of  this  examination  equal  to  that  in  Measure 
for  Measure,  where  Lucio  tells  lies  to  his  face  about  the  Duke  of 
dark  corners'? 

69.  On  what  terms  is  Parolles  willing  to  accept  life?  What 
would  have  supported  Falstaff  in  such  an  extremity  as  this  of 
Parolles? 

70.  How  does  Sc.  iv.  advance  the  plot?  In  what  temper  of 
mind  do  we  find  Helena  in  this  Scene? 

71.  Does  the  wit  of  the  Clown  improve  in  Sc.  v.?  What 
thoughts  (line  49  et  scq.)  does  he  express  similar  to  some  of  the 
Porter's  in  Macbeth  ? 

72.  Lafeu  calls  the  Clown  unhappy,  why  is  he  so?  Consider 
the  character  of  Lafeu  as  indicated  by  his  likes  and  dislikes  of 
people. 

y2>-  What  further  complication  of  the  plot  does  the  last  Scene 
of  Act  IV.  provide? 

ACT  FIFTH. 

74.  Does  Helena  ever  seem  to  confess  a  feminine  shrinking 
from  her  purposes,  or  to  feel  any  fatigue  that  the  accomplishment 
of  them  imposes? 

75.  How  does  Sc.  ii.  exhibit  the  degradation  of  Parolles?  Ex- 
plain the  words  to  Lafeu,  you  are  the  iirst  that  found  me? 

76.  Where  had  Lafeu  talk  of  Parolles,  as  he  says,  last  night? 
Has  the  Countess  ever,  earlier  than  in  Sc.  iii..  when  she  pleads 
extenuation  of  Bertram's  faults,  shown  a  similar  attitude  to- 
wards him? 

77.  What  kind  of  penitence  does  Bertram  show?  What  does 
Bertram  say  of  Lafeu's  daughter,  with  whom  a  marriage  is  ar- 
ranged for  him? 

78.  By  whom  is  the  ring  first  noticed?  Can  you  justify  Ber- 
tram's account  of  the  way  he  came  into  possession  of  it? 

79.  How  does  Bertram  meet  the  accusations  of  Diana?  What 
quality  of  his  nature  is  shown  in  his  protest  against  using  the 
evidence  of  Parolles  against  him? 

80.  What  impression  is  derived  from  Diana's  quibbling  with  the 
King?     Is  this  possibly  a  part  of  the  earlier  form  of  the  play,  or 

1^5 


Questions 

is  her  tortuous  policy  dramatically  justified  by  the  nature  of  the 
revelations  to  be  made  ?  • 

8i.  Does  the  conclusion  of  the  play  seem  sligHted  by  the  dram- 
atist.   Is  this  abrupt  ending  contrary  to  his  usual  method? 


82.  Comment  on  this  view  of  Hudson :  "  The  play  is  more  apt 
to  inspire  an  apologetic  than  an  enthusiastic  tone  of  mind." 

83.  Mention  phrases,  ideas,  complexions  of  thought,  that  ally 
the  play  with  Hamlet.  Does  it  seem,  from  internal  evidence,  to 
have  been  written  before  or  after  Hamlet? 

84.  Herford  has  said  that  Helena's  love  for  Bertram  seems  to 
spring  from  something  fundamentally  irrational  in  the  nature  of 
love  itself;  does  this  view  account  for  her  unusual  conduct? 

85.  In  how  many  of  Shakespeare's  plays  do  we  find  the  pursuit 
by  the  woman  of  the  man?  Is  this  motif  legitimatized  by  modern 
literature? 

86.  In  depicting  the  character  of  Helena,  how  does  Shake- 
speare compensate  for  the  absence  of  many  outward  circumstances 
of  which  she  has  the  advantage  in  the  story  of  Boccaccio? 

87.  Herford  further  speaks  of  Helena's  "  clear  and  penetrating 
mind."  With  such  qualities  she  could  have  been  under  no  misap- 
prehension of  moral  values.  How  did  she  meet  and  solve  her 
problems? 

88.  Are  the  materials  of  this  play  essentially  dramatic?  Would 
they  adapt  themselves  better  to  narrative  treatment,  and  if  so, 
why? 

89.  What  is  Shakespeare's  attitude  towards  such  young  men 
as  Bertram,  Claudio  in  Much  Ado  About  Nothings  and  Claudio 
in  Measure  for  Measure? 

90.  Swinburne  calls  Lafeu  "  one  of  the  best  old  men  in  all 
the  range  of  comic  art."    Show  reasons  for  his  view. 

91.  Show  the  evident  dramatic  purpose  of  Parolles  and  of  the 
Countess.     Is  motherhood  a  favourite  motif  with  Shakespeare? 

92.  What  is  Shakespeare's  philosophic  outlook  upon  life  as 
evinced  by  this  play? 


166 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA-LOS  ANGELES 


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